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THE HUNTED WOMAN 

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BOOKS BY THE SAME AUTHOR 


The Courage of Captain Plum 

The Honor of the Big Snows 

The Gold Hunters 

The Wolf Hunters 

The Danger Trail 

Philip Steele 

The Great Lakes 

Flower of the North 

ISOBEL 

Kazan 

God’s Country — ^and the Womaw 
The Hunted Woman 
The Grizzly Ejng 
Baree» Son of Kazan 







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Look at MacDonald. . . . It’s not the gold, but MacDonald, that’s taking me north, Ladygray. 

. . . Up there, another grave is calling MacDonald ” 








THE 

HUNTED WOMAN 

BY 

JAMES OLIVER CURWOOD 

Author of KAZAN, Etc. 


ILLUSTRATED BY 

FRANK B. HOFFMAN 



NEW YORK 

GROSSET & DUNLAP 
PUBLISHERS 


c\o» 


N 


) 



Copyright ^ 1915, 1916, iy 
James Oliver Curwood 

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED 

. 3,0 


\ 


PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES 
AT 

THE COUNTRY LIFE PRESS, CARDEN CITY, K* R* 


TO MY WIFE 
AND 

OUR COMRADES OF THE TRAIL 


1 



LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 


* Look at MacDonald. . . . It’s not the gold, 

but MacDonald, that’s taking me North, Lady- 
gray. . . . Up there, another grave is call- 
ing MacDonald. ’ ” (See page 144) . . Frontisjdece 

FACING PAGE 

A tall, slim, exquisitely poised figure. 

‘“Another o’ them Dotty Dimples come out to 
save the world. I thought I’d help eggicate her a 
little, an’ so I sent her to Bill’s place’ ” .... 8 

“A crowd was gathering. ... A slim, exquis- 
itely formed woman in shimmering silk was stand- 
ing beside a huge brown bear ” 104 

‘“The tunnel is closed,’ she whispered. . 

‘That means we have just forty-five minutes to 
live. . . . Let us not lie to one another.’ ” . 200 


THE HUNTED WOMAN 



THE HUNTED WOMAN 


CHAPTER I 

I T WAS all new — ^most of it singularly dramatic and 
even appalling to the woman who sat with the pearl- 
gray veil drawn closely about her face. For eighteen 
hours she had been a keenly attentive, wide-eyed, and 
partly frightened bit of humanity in this onrush of ‘*the 
horde.” She had heard a voice behind her speak of it as 
“the horde” — a deep, thick, gruff voice which she knew 
without looking had filtered its way through a beard. 
She agreed with the voice. It was the Horde — ^that 
horde which has always beaten the trails ahead for civiliza- 
tion and made of its own flesh and blood the foundation 
of nations. For months it had been pouring steadily into 
the mountains — always in and never out, a laughing, 
shouting, singing, blaspheming Horde, every ounce of it 
toughened sinew and red brawn, except the Straying 
Angels. One of these sat opposite her, a dark-eyed girl 
with over-red lips and hollowed cheeks, and she heard the 
bearded man say something to his companions about 
“dizzy dolls” and “the little angel in the other seat.” 
This same voice, gruffened in its beard, had told her that 
ten thousand of the Horde had gone up ahead of them. 
Then it whispered something that made her hand^s suddenly 


4 


THE HUNTED WOMAN 


tighten and a hot flush sweep through her. She lifted 
her veil and rose slowly from her seat, as if to rearrange 
her dress. Casually she looked straight into the faces of 
the bearded man and his companion in the seat behind. 
They stared. After that she heard nothing more of the 
Straying Angels, but only a wildly mysterious confabula- 
tion about ‘‘rock hogs,’^ and “coyotes” that blew up 
whole mountains, and a hundred and one things about 
the “rail end.” She learned that it was taking flve 
hundred steers a week to feed the Horde that lay along 
the Grand Trunk Paciflc between Hogan’s Camp and the 
sea, and that there were two thousand souls at T6te 
Jaime Cache, which until a few months before had slum- 
bered in a century-old quiet broken only by the Indian 
and his trade. Then the train stopped in its twisting trail, 
and the bearded man and his companion left the car. As 
they passed her they glanced down. Again the veil was 
drawn close. A shimmering tress of hair had escaped its 
bondage; that was all they saw. 

The veiled woman drew a deeper breath when they were 
gone. She saw that most of the others were getting 
off. In her end of the car the hollow-cheeked girl and 
she were alone. Even in their aloneness these two women 
had not dared to speak until now. The one raised her 
veil again, and their eyes met across the aisle. For a 
moment the big, dark, sick-looking eyes of the “angel” 
stared. Like the bearded man and his companion, she, 
too, understood, and an embarrassed flush added to the 
colour of the rouge on her cheeks. The eyes that looked 
across at her were blue — deep, quiet, beautiful. The 


THE HUNTED WOMAN 


lifted veil had disclosed to her a face that she could not 
associate with the Horde. The lips smiled at her — ^the 
wonderful eyes softened with a look of understanding, and 
then the veil was lowered again. The flush in the girFs 
cheek died out, and she smiled back. 

“You are going to Tete Jaune.?^” she asked. 

“Yes. May I sit with you for a few minutes? I want 
to ask questions — so many!” 

The hollow-cheeked girl made room for her at her side. 

“You are new?” 

“Quite new — to this.” 

The words, and the manner in which they were spoken, 
made the other glance quickly at her companion. 

“It is a strange place to go — ^T^te Jaune,” she said. 
“It is terrible place for a woman.” 

“And yet you are going?” 

“I have friends there. Have you?” 

“No.” 

The girl stared at her in amazement. Her voice and 
her eyes were bolder now. 

“And without friends you are going — there?** she cried. 
“You have no husband — ^no brother ” 

“What place is this?” interrupted the other, raising her 
veil so that she could look steadily into the other’s face. 
“Would you mind telling me?” 

“It is Miette,” replied the girl, the flush reddening her 
cheeks again. “There’s one of the big camps of the 
railroad builders down on the Flats. You can see it 
through the window. That river is the Athabasca.” 

“Will the train stop here very long?” 

TheLittle Angel shrugged her thin shoulders despairingly. 


6 


THE HUNTED WOMAN 


*‘Long enough to get me into The Cache mighty late to- 
night,” she cmnplained. “We won't move for two hours.” 

“I'd be so gfe-d if you could tell me where I can go for 
a bath and something to eat. I'm not very hungry — ^but 
I'm terribly dusty. I want to change some clothes, too. 
Is there a hotel here?” 

Her companion found the question very funny. She had 
a giggling fit before she answered. 

“You're sure new,” she explained. “We don't have 
hotels up here. We have bed-houses, chuck-tents, and 
bunk-shacks. You ask for Bill's Shack down there on the 
Flats. It's pretty good. They'll give you a room, plenty 
of water, and a looking-glass — an' charge you a dollar. 
I'd go with you, but I'm expecting a friend a little later, 
and if I move I may lose him. Anybody will tell you 
where Bill's place is. It's a red an' white striped tent — 
and it's respectable.^' 

The stranger girl thanked her, and turned for her bag* 
As she left the car, the Little Angel's eyes followed her 
with a malicious gleam that gave them the strange glow 
of candles in a sepulchral cavern. The colours which she 
unfurled to all seeking eyes were not secret, and yet she 
was filled with an inward antagonism that this stranger 
with the wonderful blue eyes had dared to see them and 
recognize them. She stared after the retreating form — a 
tall, slim, exquisitely poised figure that filled her with 
envy and a dull sort of hatred. She did not hear a step 
behind her. A hand fell familiarly on her shoulder, and a 
coarse voice laughed something in her ear that made her 
jmnp up with an artificial little shriek of pleasure. The 
man nodded toward the end of the now empty car. 


THE HUNTED WOMAN 


7 


Who’s your new friend?” he asked. 

She’s no friend of mine,” snapped the girl. She’s 
another one of them Dolly Dimples come out to save the 
world. She’s that innocent she wonders why T^te Jaune 
ain’t a nice place for ladies without escort. I thought I’d 
help eggicate her a little an’ so I sent her to Bill’s place. 
Oh, my Lord, I told her it was respectable!” 

She doubled over the seat in a fit of merriment, and her 
companion seized the opportunity to look out of the 
window. 

The tall, blue-eyed stranger had paused for a moment 
on the last step of the car to pin up her veil, fully revealing 
her face. Then she stepped lightly to the ground, and 
found herself facing the sunlight and the mountains. She 
drew a slow, deep breath between her parted lips, and 
turned wonderingly, for a moment forgetful. It was the 
first time she had left the train since entering the moun- 
tains, and she understood now why some one in the coach 
had spoken of the Miette Plain as Sunshine Pool. Where- 
ever she looked the mountains fronted her, with their 
splendid green slopes reaching up to their bald caps of 
gray shale and reddish rock or gleaming summits of snow. 
Into this ‘‘pool” — ^this pocket in the mountains — ^the sun 
descended in a wonderful fiood. It stirred her blood like 
a tonic. She breathed more quickly; a soft glow coloured 
her cheeks; her eyes grew more deeply violet as they 
caught the reflection of the blue sky. A gentle wind 
fretted the loose tendrils of brown hair about her face. 
And the bearded man, staring through the car window, 
saw her thus, and for an hour after that the hollow-cheeked 
girl wondered at the strange change in him. 


8 


THE HUNTED WOMAN 


The train had stopped at the edge of the big fill over- 
looking the Flats. It was a heavy train, and a train that 
was helping to make history — a combination of freight, 
passenger, and “cattle.” It had averaged eight miles an 
hour on its climb toward Yellowhead Pass and the end of 
steel. The “cattle” had already surged from their stifling 
and foul-smelling cars in a noisy inundation of curiously 
mixed humanity. They were of a dozen different nation- 
alities, and as the girl looked at them it was not with 
revulsion or scorn but with a sudden quickening of heart- 
beat and a little laugh that had in it something both of 
wonder and of pride. This was the Horde, that crude, 
monstrous thing of primitive strength and passions that 
was overturning mountains in its fight to link the new 
Grand Trunk Pacific with the seaport on the Pacific. In 
that Horde, gathered in little groups, shifting, sweeping 
slowly toward her and past her, she saw something as 
omnipotent as the mountains themselves. They could not 
know defeat. She sensed it without ever having seen 
them before. For her the Horde now had a heart and a 
soul. These were the builders of empire — the man-beasts 
who made it possible for Civilization to creep warily and 
without peril into new places and new worlds. With a 
a curious shock she thought of the half-dozen lonely little 
wooden crosses she had seen through the car window at 
odd places along the line of rail. 

And now she sought her way toward the Flats. To do 
this she had to climb over a track that was waiting for 
ballast. A car shunted past her, and on its side she saw 
the big, warning red placards — Dynamite. That one word 
seemed to breathe to her the spirit of the wonderful energy 


THE HUNTED WOMAN 


9 


that was expending itself all about her. From farther 
on in the mountains came the deep, sullen detonations of 
the little black giant” that had been rumbling past her 
in the car. It came again and again, like the thunderous 
voice of the mountains themselves calling out in protest 
and defiance. And each time she felt a curious thrill 
under her feet and the palpitant touch of something that 
was like a gentle breath in her ears. She found another 
track on her way, and other cars slipped past her crunch- 
ingly. Beyond this second track she came to a beaten road 
that led down into the Flats, and she began to descend. 

Tents shone through the trees on the bottom. The 
rattle of the cars grew more distant, and she heard the 
hum and laughter of voices and the jargon of a phono- 
graph. At the bottom of the slope she stepped aside to 
allow a team and wagon to pass. The wagon was loaded 
with boxes that rattled and crashed about as the wheels 
bumped over stones and roots. The driver of the team 
did not look at her. He was holding back with his whole 
weight; his eyes bulged a little; he was sweating, in his 
face was a comedy of expression that made the girl smile 
in spite of herself. Then she saw one of the bobbing boxes 
and the smile froze into a look of horror. On it was 
painted that ominous word — ^Dynamite! 

Two men were coming behind her. 

“Six horses, a wagon an’ old Fritz — ^blown to hell an’ 
not a splinter left to tell the story,” one of them was 
saying. “I was there three minutes after the explosion 
and there wasn’t even a ravelling or a horsehair left. This 
dynamite’s a dam’ funny thing. I wouldn’t be a rock-hog 
for a million!” 


10 


THE HUNTED WOMAN 


*^Td rather be a rock-hog than Joe — drivin* down this 
hill a dozen times a day,” replied the other. 

The girl had paused again, and the two men stared at 
her as they were about to pass. The explosion of Joe’s 
dynamite could not have startled them more than the 
beauty of the face that was turned to them in a quietly 
appealing inquiry. 

am looking for a place called — Bill’s Shack,” she 
said, speaking the Little Sister’s words hesitatingly. ‘^Can 
you direct me to it, please?” 

The yoimger of the two men looked at his companion 
without speaking. The other, old enough to regard 
feminine beauty as a trap and an illusion, turned aside to 
empty his mouth of a quid of tobacco, bent over, and 
pointed under the trees. 

“Can’t miss it — third tent-house on your right, with 
canvas striped like a barber-pole. That phonnygraflF you 
hear is at Bill’s.” 

“Thank you.” 

She went on. 

Behind her, the two men stood where she had left them. 
They did not move. The younger man seemed scarcely 
to breathe. 

“Bill’s place!” he gasped then. “I’ve a notion to tell 
her. I can’t believe ” 

“Shucks!” interjected the other. 

“But I don’t. She isn’t that sort. She looked like a 
Madonna — ^with the heart of her clean gone. I never saw 
anything so white an’ so beautiful. You call me a fool 
if you want to — I’m goin’ on to Bill’s!” 

He strode ahead, chivalry in his yoimg and palpitating 


THE HUNTED WOMAN 11 

heart. Quickly the older man was at his side, clutching 
his arm. 

‘‘Come along, you cotton-head!” he cried. "‘You ain’t 
old enough or big enough in this camp to mix in with Bill. 
Besides,” he lied, seeing the wavering light in the youth’s 
eyes, “I know her. She’s going to the right place.” 

At Bill’s place men were holding their breath and 
staring. They were not unaccustomed to women. But 
such an one as this vision that walked calmly and undis- 
turbed in among them they had never seen. There were 
half a dozen lounging there, smoking and listening to the 
phonograph, which some one now stopped that they might 
hear every word that was spoken. The girl’s head was 
high. She was beginning to understand that it would 
have been less embarrassing to have gone hungry and 
dusty. But she had come this far, and she was deter- 
mined to get what she wanted — ^if it was to be had. The 
colour shone a little more vividly through the pure 
whiteness of her skin as she faced Bill, leaning over his 
little counter. In him she recognized the Brute. It was 
blazoned in his face, in the hungry, seeking look of his 
eyes — ^in the heavy pouches and thick crinkles of his 
neck and cheeks. For once Bill Quade himself was at a 
loss. 

“I imderstand that you have rooms for rent,” she said 
unemotionally. “May I hire one until the train leaves 
for T^te Jaune Cache?” 

The listeners behind her stiffened and leaned forward. 
One of them grinned at Quade. This gave him the con- 
fidence he needed to offset the fearless questioning in the 


12 


THE HUNTED WOMAN 


blue eyes. None of them noticed a newcomer in the door. 
Quade stepped from behind his shelter and faced her. 

“This way/’ he said, and turned to the drawn curtains 
beyond them. 

She followed. As the curtains closed after them a 
chuckling laugh broke the silence of the on-looking group. 
The newcomer in the doorway emptied the bowl of his 
pipe, and thrust the pipe into the breast-pocket of his 
flannel shirt. He was bareheaded. His hair was blond, 
shot a little with gray. He was perhaps thirty-eight, no 
taller than the girl herself, slim-waisted, with trim, athletic 
shoulders. His eyes, as they rested on the still-fluttering 
curtains, were a cold and steady gray. His face was thin 
and bronzed, his nose a trifle prominent. He was a man 
far from handsome, and yet there was something of 
fascination and strength about him. He did not belong 
to the Horde. Yet he might have been the force behind 
it, contemptuous of the chuckling group of rough- visaged 
men, almost arrogant in his posture as he eyed the curtains 
and waited. 

What he expected soon came. It was not the usual 
giggling, the usual exchange of badinage and coarse jest 
beyond the closed curtains. Quade did not come out 
rubbing his huge hands, his face crinkling with a sort of 
exultant satisfaction. The girl preceded him. She flung 
the curtains aside and stood there for a moment, her face 
flaming like fire, her blue eyes filled with the flash of 
lightning. She came down the single step. Quade fol- 
lowed her. He put out a hand. 

“Don’t take offence, girly,” he expostulated. “Look 
here — ain’t it reasonable to s’pose ” 


THE HUNTED WOlVIAN 


IS 


He got no farther. The man in the door had advanced, 
placing himself at the girl's side. His voice was low and 
unexcited. 

“You have made a mistake?” he said. 

She took him in at a glance — ^his clean-cut, strangely 
attractive face, his slim build, the clear and steady gray 
of his eyes. 

“Yes, I have made a mistake — a terrible mistake!” 

“I tell you it ain’t fair to take offence,” Quade went on. 
“Now, look here ” 

In his hand was a roll of bills. The girl did not know 
that a man could strike as quickly and with as terrific 
effect as the gray-eyed stranger struck then. There was 
one blow, and Quade went down limply. It was so sudden 
that he had her outside before she realized what had 
happened. 

“I chanced to see you go in,” he explained, without a 
tremor in his voice. “I thought you were making a 
mistake. I heard you ask for shelter. If you will come 
with me I will take you to a friend’s.” 

“If it isn’t too much trouble for you, I will go,” she 
said. “And for that — in there — ^thank you!” 


CHAPTER n 


T hey passed down an aisle through the tall trees, 
on each side of which faced the vari-coloured and 
many-shaped architecture of the little town. It 
was chiefly of canvas. Now and then a structure of logs 
added an appearance of solidity to the whole. The girl 
did not look too closely. She knew that they passed 
places in which there were long rows of cots, and that 
others were devoted to trade. She noticed signs which 
advertised soft drinks and cigars — always ‘‘soft drinks, 
which sometimes came into camp marked as “dynamite,’* 
“salt pork,” and “flour.” She was conscious that every 
one stared at them as they passed. She heard clearly the 
expressions of wonder and curiosity of two women and a 
girl who were spreading out blankets in front of a room- 
ing-tent. She looked at the man at her side. She 
appreciated his courtesy in not attempting to force an 
acquaintanceship. In her eyes was a ripple of amusement. 

“This is all strange and new to me — and not at all 
uninteresting,” she said. “ I came expecting — everything. 
And I am finding it. Why do they stare at me so? Am I 
a curiosity?” 

“You are,” he answered blimtly. “You are the most 
beautiful woman they have ever seen.” 

His eyes encountered hers as he spoke. He had 
answered her question fairly. There was nothing that 


THE HUNTED WOMAN 


U 

was audacious in his manner or his look. She had asked 
for information, and he had given it. In spite of herself 
the girFs lips trembled. Her colour deepened. She 
smiled. 

“ Pardon me,” she entreated. I seldom feel like laugh- 
ing, but I almost do now. I have encountered so many 
curious people and have heard so many curious things 
during the past twenty-four hours. You don’t believe iu 
concealing your thoughts out here in the wilderness, do 
you?” 

‘‘I haven’t expressed my thoughts,” he corrected, 
was telling you what they think.” 

“Oh-h-h — beg your pardon again !’^ 

‘‘Not at all,” he answered lightly, and now his eyes 
were laughing frankly into her own. “I don’t mind 
informing you,” he went on, “that I am the biggest 
cm-iosity you will meet between this side of the mountains 
and the sea. I am not accustomed to championing 
women. I allow them to pursue their own comse without 
personal interference on my part. But — I suppose it will 
give you some satisfaction if I confess it — I followed you 
into Bill’s place because you were more than ordinarily 
beautiful, and because I wanted to see fair play. I knew 
you were making a mistake. I knew what would happen.” 

They had passed the end of the street, and entered a 
little green plain that was soft as velvet underfoot. On 
the farther side of this, sheltered among the trees, were 
two or three tents. The man led the way toward these. 

“Now, I suppose I’ve spoiled it all,” he went on, a 
touch of irony in his voice. “It was really quite heroic 
of me to follow you into Bill’s place, don’t you think? 


16 


THE HUNTED WOMAN 


You probably want to tell me so, but don’t quite dare. 
And I should play up to my part, shouldn’t I? But I 
cannot — not satisfactorily. I’m really a bit disgusted 
with myself for having taken as much interest in you as 
I have. I write books for a living. My name is John 
Aldous.” 

With a little cry of amazement, his companion stopped. 
Without knowing it, her hand had gripped his arm. 

‘‘You are John Aldous — who wrote ‘Fair Play,’ and 
^ Women!’” she gasped. 

“Yes,” he said, amusement in his face. 

“I have read those books — and I have read your plays,’* 
she breathed, a mysterious tremble in her voice. “You 
despise women!” 

“Devoutly.” 

She drew a deep breath. Her hand dropped from his 
arm. 

“This is very, very funny,” she mused, gazing off to the 
sun-capped peaks of the mountains. “You have flayed 
women alive. You have made them want to mob you. 
And yet ” 

“Millions of them read my books,” he chuckled. 

“Yes — all of them read your books,” she replied, looking 
straight into his face. “And I guess — in many ways— 
you have pointed out things that are true.” 

It was his turn to show surprise. 

“You believe that?” 

“I do. More than that — I have always thought that I 
knew your secret — ^the big, hidden thing under your work, 
the thing which you do not reveal because you know the 
world would laugh at you. And so — you despise me I** 


THE HUNTED WOMAN 


1 ? 


**Not your 

**I am a woman.” 

He laughed. The tan in his cheeks burned a deeper 

^ed. 

“We are wasting time,” he warned her. “In Bill’s 
place I heard you say you were going to leave on th^ 
Tete Jaune train. I am going to take you to a real dinner. 
And now — I should let those good people know your 
name.” 

A moment — unflinching and steady — ^she looked into 
his face. 

“It is Joanne, the name you have made famous as the 
dreadfulest woman in fiction. Joanne Gray.” 

“I am sorry,” he said, and bowed low. “Come. If I 
am not mistaken I smell new-baked bread.” 

As they moved on he suddenly touched her arm. She 
felt for a moment the firm elasp of his fingers. There was 
a new light in his eyes, a glow of enthusiasm. 

“I have it!” he cried. “You have brought it to me — 
the idea. I have been wanting a name for her — ^the 
woman in my new book. She is to be a tremendous 
surprise. I haven’t found a name, until now — one that 
fits. I shall call her Ladygray!” 

He felt the girl flinch. He was surprised at the sudden 
startled look that shot into her eyes, the swift ebbing of 
the colour from her cheeks. He drew away his hand at 
the strange change in her. He noticed how quickly she 
was breathing — that the fingers of her white hands were 
clasped tensely. 

“You object,” he said. 

“Not enough to keep you from using it,” she replied 


18 


THE HUNTED WOMAN 


in a low voice. ‘T owe you a great deal.’’ He noted^ 
too, how quickly she had recovered herself. Her head was 
a little higher. She looked toward the tents. “You were 
not mistaken,” she added. “ I smell new-made bread ! ” 

“And I shall emphasize the first half of it — ^Lodi/gray,’* 
said John Aldous, as if speaking to himself. “That 
diminutizes it, you might say — ^gives it the touch of senti-^ 
ment I want. You can imagine a lover saying ‘Dear little 
iodi/gray, are you warna and comfy? He wouldn’t say 
Ladygray as if she wore a coronet, would he?” 

“Smell-o’-bread — afresh bread!” sniffed Joanne Gray, as 
if she had not heard him. “It’s making me hungry^ 
Will you please^hurry me to it, John Aldous?” 

They were approaching the first of the three tent-houses, 
over which was a crudely painted sign which read “Otto 
Brothers, Guides and Outfitters.” It was a large, square 
tent, with weather-faded red and blue stripes, and from 
it came the cheerful sound of a woman’s laughter. Half 
a dozen trampish-looking Airedale terriers roused them- 
selves languidly as they drew nearer. One of them stood 
up and snarled. 

“ They won’t hin*t you,” assured Aldous. “ They belong 
to Jack Bruce and Clossen Otto — the finest bunch of 
grizzly dogs in the Rockies.” Another moment, and a 
woman had appeared in the door. “And that is Mrs. 
Jack Otto,” he added under his breath. “If all women 
were like her I wouldn’t have written the things you have 
read!” 

He might have added that she was Scotch. But this 
was not necessary. The laughter was still in her good- 
humoured face. Aidous looked at his companion, and he 


THE HUNTED WOMAN 19 

found her smiling back. The eyes of the two women had 
already met. 

Briefly Aldous explained what had happend at Quade^s, 
and that the young woman was leaving on the Tete 
Jaune train. The good-humoured smile left Mrs. Otto^s 
face when he mentioned Quade. 

‘TVe told Jack I’d like to poison that man some day,” 
she cried. ‘‘You poor dear, come in. I’ll get you a cup 
of tea.” 

“Which always means dinner in the Otto camp,” added 
Aldous. 

“I’m not so hungry, but I’m tired — ^so tired,” he heard 
the girl say as she went in with Mrs. Otto, and there was 
a new and strangely pathetic note in her voice. “I want 
lo rest — until the train goes.” 

He followed them in, and stood for a moment near the 
door. 

“There’s a room in there, my dear,” said the woman, 
drawing back a curtain. “Make yourself at home, and 
lie down on the bed until I have the tea ready.” 

When the curtain had closed behind her, John Aldous 
spoke in a low voice to the woman. 

“Will you see her safely to the train, Mrs. Otto?” he 
asked. “It leaves at a quarter after two. I must be 
going.” 

He felt that he had suflSciently performed his duty. 
He left the tent, and paused for a moment outside to 
touzle affectionately the trampish heads of the bear dogs. 
Then he turned away, whistling. He had gone a dozen 
steps when a low voice stopped him. He turned. Joanne 
had come from the door. 


THE HUNTED WOMAN 


For one moment he stared as if something more won^ 
derful than anything he had ever seen had risen before 
him. The girl was bareheaded, and she stood in a sun 
mellowed by a film of cloud. Her head was piled with 
lustrous coils of gold-brown hair that her hat and veil 
had hidden. Never had he looked upon such wonderful 
hair, crushed and crumpled back from her smooth forehead; 
nor such marvellous whiteness of skin and pure blue depths 
of eyes! In her he saw now everything that was strong 
and splendid in woman. She was not girlishly sweet. 
She was not a girl. She was a woman — ^glorious to look 
at, a soul glowing out of her eyes, a strength that thrilled 
him in the quiet and beautiful mystery of her face. 

“You were going without saying good-bye,” she said# 
“Won’t you lei me thank you — a last time.^” 

Her voice brought him to himself again. A moment he 
bent over her hand. A moment he felt its warm, firm 
pressure in his own. The smile that flashed to his lips 
was hidden from her as he bowed his blond-gray head. 

“Pardon me for the omission,” he apologized. “Good- 
bye — and may good luck go with you!” 

Their eyes met once more. With another bow he had 
turned, and was continuing his way. At the door Joanne 
Gray looked back. He was whistling again. His careless, 
easy stride was filled with a freedom that seemed to come 
to her in the breath of the mountains. And then she, too, 
smiled strangely as she reentered the tent. 


CHAPTER m 


I F JOHN ALDOUS had betrayed no visible sign of in* 
ward vanquishment he at least was feeling its efiFect. 
For years his writings had made him the target for a 
world of women, and many men. The men he had regarded 
with indiflFerent toleration. The women were his life — - 
the “frail and ineffective creatures” who gave spice to his 
great adventure, and made his days anything but monoto- 
nous. He was not unchivalrous. Deep down in his heart — 
and this was his own secret — he did not even despise women. 
But he had seen their weaknesses and their frailties as 
perhaps no other man had ever seen them, and he had 
written of them as no other man had ever written. This 
had brought him the condemnation of the host, the admira- 
tion of the few. His own personal veneer of antagonism 
against woman was purely artificial, and yet only a few 
had guessed it. He had built it up about him as a sort 
of protection. He called himself “an adventurer in the 
mysteries of feminism,” and to be this successfully he had 
argued that he must destroy in himself the usual heart- 
emotions of the sex-man and the animal. 

How far he had succeeded in this he himself did not 
know — until these last moments when he had bid good-bye 
to Joanne Gray. He confessed that she had found a cleft 
in his armour, and there was an uneasy thrill in his blood. 
It was not her beauty alone that had affected him. He 


£2 


THE HUNTED WOMAN 


had trained himself to look at a beautiful woman as he 
might have looked at a beautiful flower, confident that if 
he went beyond the mere admiration of it he would find 
only burned-out ashes. But in her he had seen something 
that was more than beauty, something that for a flashing 
moment had set stirring every molecule in his being. He 
had felt the desire to rest his hand upon her shining hair! 

He turned off into a winding path that led into the 
thick poplars, restraining an inclination to look back in 
the direction of the Otto camp. He pulled out the pipe 
he had dropped into his shirt pocket, filled it with fresh 
tobacco, and began smoking. As he smoked, his lips wore 
a quizzical smile, for he was honest enough to give Joanne 
Gray credit for her triumph. She had awakened a new 
kind of interest in him — only a passing interest, to be 
sure — but a new kind for all that. The fact amused him. 
In a large way he was a humourist — ^few guessing it, and 
he fully appreciated the humour of the present situation— 
that he, John Aldous, touted the world over as a woman- 
hater, wanted to peer out through the poplar foliage and 
see that wonderful gold-brown head shining in the sun 
once more! 

He wandered more slowly on his way, wondering with 
fresh interest what his friends, the women, would say 
when they read his new book. His title for it was ‘‘Moth- 
ers.” It was to be a tremendous surprise. 

Suddenly his face became serious. He faced the sound 
of a distant phonograph. It was not the phonograph in 
Quade’s place, but that of a rival dealer in soft drinks at 
the end of the “street.” For a moment Aldous hesitated* 
Then he turned in the direction of the camp. 


THE HUNTED WOMAN 


23 


Quade was bolstered up on a stool, his back against th« 
thin partition, when John Aldous sauntered in. There 
was still a groggy look in his mottled face. His thick 
bulk hung a bit limply. In his heavy-lidded eyes, under- 
hung by watery pouches of sin and dissipation, there was 
a vengeful and beastlike glare. He was surrounded by 
his friends. One of them was taking a wet cloth from his 
head. There were a dozen in the canvas-walled room, 
all with their backs to the door, their eyes upon their fallen 
and dishonoured chief. For a moment J ohn Aldous paused 
in the door. The cool and insolent smile hovered about 
his lips again, and little crinkles had gathered at the 
corners of his eyes. 

‘‘Did I hit you pretty hard. Bill?” he asked. 

Every head was turned toward him. Bill Quade stared, 
his mouth open. He staggered to his feet, and stood 
dizzily. 

“You — damn you!” he cried huskily. 

Three or four of the men had already begun to movKb 
toward the stranger. Their hands were knotted, their 
faces murderously dark. 

“Wait a minute, boys,” warned Aldous coolly. “IVe 
got something to say to you — ^and Bill. Then eat me alive 
if you want to. Do you want to be square enough to 
give me a word?” 

Quade had settled back sickly on his stool. The others 
had stopped, waiting. The quiet and insolently confident 
pmile had not left Aldous’ lips. 

“You’ll feel better in a few minutes. Bill,” he consoled. 
“A hard blow on the jaw always makes you sick at the 
pit of the stomach. That dizziness will pass away shortly. 


£4 


THE HUNTED WOMAN 


Meanwhile, I’m going to give you and your pals a little 
verbal and visual demonstration of what you’re up againstj, 
and warn you to bait no traps for a certain young woman 
whom you’ve lately seen. She’s going on to Tete Jaune. 
And I know how your partner plays his game up there. 
I’m not particularly anxious to butt into your affairs and 
the business of this pretty bunch that’s gathered about 
you, but I’ve come to give you a friendly warning for all 
that. If this young woman is embarrassed up at T^te 
Jaune you’re going to settle with me.” 

Aldous had spoken without a tremor of excitement in 
his voice. Not one of the men noticed his speaking Ups, 
his slim hands, or his careless posture as he leaned in the 
door. They were looking straight into his eyes, strangely 
scintillating and deadly earnest. In such a man mere 
bulk did not count. 

‘‘ That much — ^for words,” he went on. “Now I’m 
going to give you the visual demonstration. I know your 
game. Bill. You’re already planning what you’re going 
to do. You won’t fight fair — ^because you never have. 
You’ve already decided that some morning I’ll turn up 
missing, or be dug out from imder a fall of rock, or go 
peacefully floating down the Athabasca. See! There’? 
nothing in that hand, is there?” 

He stretched out an empty hand toward them, palm upr 

“And now!” 

A twist of the wrist so swift their eyes could not follow, 
a metallic click, and the startled group were staring into 
the black muzzle of a menacing little automatic. 

“That’s known as the sleeve trick, boys,” explained 
Aldous with his imperturbable smile. “It’s a relic of the 


THE HUNTED WOMAN 


25 


old gun-fighting days when the best man was quickest. 
From now on, especially at night, I shall carry this little 
friend of mine just inside my wristband. There are eleven 
shots in it, and I shoot fairly straight. Good-day!” 

Bdore they had recovered from their astonishment he 
was gone. 

He did not follow the road along which Joanne had 
come a short time before, but turned again into the 
winding trail that led riverward through the poplars. 
Where before he had been a little amused at himself, he 
was now more seriously disgusted. He was not afraid of 
Quade, who was perhaps the most dangerous man along 
the line of rail. Neither was he afraid of the lawless men 
who worked his ends. But he knew that he had made 
powerful enemies, and all because of an unknown woman 
whom he had never seen imtil half an hour before. It 
was this that disturbed his equanimity — the woman of it, 
and the knowledge that his interference had been unso- 
licited and probably unnecessary. And now that he had 
gone this far he found it not easy to recover his balance. 
Who was this Joanne Gray? he asked himself. She was 
not ordinary — ^like the hundred other women who had 
gone on ahead of her to Tete Jaune Cache. If she had 
been that, he would soon have been in his little shack on 
the shore of the river, hard at work. He had planned 
work for himself that afternoon, and he was nettled to 
discover that his enthusiasm for the grand finale of a 
certain situation in his novel was gone. Yet for this he 
did not blame her. He was the fool. Quade and his 
Criends would make him feel that sooner or later. 

His trail led him to a partly dry muskeg bottonL 


26 


THE HUNTED WOMAN 


Beyond this was a thicker growth of timber, mostly spruce 
and cedar, from behind which came the rushing sound 
of water. A few moments more and he stood with the 
wide tumult of the Athabasca at his feet. He had chosen 
this spot for his little cabin because the river ran wild 
here among the rocks, and because pack-outfits going 
into the southward mountains could not disturb him by 
fording at this point. Across the river rose the steep 
embankments that shut in Buffalo Prairie, and still beyond 
that the moimtains, thick with timber rising billow on bil- 
low until trees looked like twigs, with gray rock and glisten- 
ing snow shouldering the clouds above the last purple line. 
The cabin in which he had lived and worked for many weeks 
faced the river and the distant Saw Tooth Range, and was 
partly hidden in a clump of jack-pines. He opened the door 
and entered. Through the window to the south and west he 
could see the white face of Mount Geikie, and forty miles 
away in that wilderness of peaks, the sombre frown of 
Hardesty; through it the sun came now, fiooding his work 
as he had left it. The last page of manuscript on which 
he had been working was in his typewriter. He sat down 
to begin where he had left off in that pivotal situation in 
his masterpiece. 

He read and re-read the last two or three pages of the 
manuscript, struggling to pick up the threads where he 
had dropped them. With each reading he became more 
convinced that his work for that afternoon was spoiled. 
And by whom? By whai ? A little fiercely he packed his 
pil>e with fresh tobacco. Then he leaned back, lighted 
it, and laughed. More and more as the minutes passed 
he permitted himself to think of the strange young woman 


THE HUNTED WOMAN 


£7 


whose beauty and personality had literally projected 
themselves into his workshop. He marvelled at the crudity 
of the questions which, he asked himself, and yet he per- 
sisted in asking them. Who was she? What could be 
her mission at Tete Jaune Cache? She had repeated to 
him what she had said to the girl in the coach — ^that at 
Tete Jaune she had no friends. Beyond that, and her 
name, she had offered no enlightenment. 

In the brief space that he had been with her he had 
mentally tabulated her age as twenty-eight — ^no older. 
Her beauty alone, the purity of her eyes, the freshness of 
her lips, and the slender girlishness of her figure, might 
have made him say twenty, but with those things he had 
found the maturer poise of the woman. It had been a 
flashlight picture, but one that he was sure of. 

Several times during the next hour he turned to his 
work, and at last gave up his efforts entirely. From a 
peg in the wall he took down a little rifle. He had found 
it convenient to do much of his own cooking, and he had 
broken a few laws. The partridges were out of season, but 
temptingly fat and tender. With a brace of young 
broilers in mind for supper, he left the cabin and followed 
the narrow foot-trail up the river. He hunted for half an 
hour before he stirred a covey of birds. Two of these he 
shot. Concealing his meat and his gun near the trail he 
continued toward the ford half a mile farther up, wonder- 
ing if Stevens, who was due to cross that day, had got 
his outfit over. Not until then did he look at his watch. 
He was surprised to find that the T^te Jaune train had 
been gone three quarters of an hour. For some unac- 
countable reason he felt easier. He went on, whistling. 


THE HUNTED WOMAN 


At the ford he found Stevens standing close to the 
river’s edge, twisting one of his long red moustaches in 
doubt and vexation. 

“Damn this river,” he growled, as Aldous came up, 
“You never can tell what it’s going to do overnight. 
Look there! Would you try to cross?” 

“I wouldn’t,” replied Aldous. “It’s a foot higher than 
yesterday. I wouldn’t take the chance.” 

“Not with two guides, a cook, and a horse-wrangler on 
your pay-roll — and a hospital bill as big as Geikie staring 
you in the face?” argued Stevens, who had been sick for 
three months. “I guess you’d pretty near take a chance. 
I’ve a notion to.” 

“I wouldn’t,” repeated Aldous. 

“But I’ve lost two days already, and I’m taking that 
bunch of sightseers out for a lump sum, guaranteeing 
'em so many days on the trail. This ain’t what you might 
call on the trail. They don’t expect to pay for this delay^ 
and that outfit back in the bush is costing me thirty 
dollars a day. We can get the dunnage and ourselves 
over in the flat-boat. It’ll make our arms crack — ^but 
we can do it. I’ve got twenty-seven horses. I’ve a 
notion to chase ’em in. The river won’t be any lower 
to-morrow.” 

“But you may be a few horses ahead.” 

Stevens bit off a chunk of tobacco and sat down. For 
a few moments he looked at the muddy flood with an 
ugly eye. Then he chuckled, and grinned. 

“Came through the camp half an hour ago,” he said. 
•*Hear you cleaned up on Bill Quade.” 

A bit,” said AldouSr 


THE HUNTED WOMAN 29 

Stevens rolled his quid and spat into the water slushing 
at his feet. 

‘‘Guess I saw the woman when she got oflF the train,” 
he went on. “She dropped something. I picked it up, 
but she was so darned pretty as she stood there looking 
about I didn’t dare go up an’ give it to her. If it had 
been worth anything I’d screwed up my courage. But it 
wasn’t — so I just gawped like the others. It was a piece 
of paper. Mebby you’d like it as a souvenir, seein’ as 
you laid out Quade for her.” 

As he spoke, Stevens fished a crumpled bit of paper 
from his pocket and gave it to his companion. Aldous 
had sat down beside him. He smoothed the page out on 
his knee. There was no writing on it, but it was crowded 
thick with figures, as if the maker of the numerals had 
been doing some problem in mathematics. The chief 
thing that interested him was that wherever monetary 
symbols were used it was the “pound” and not the 
“dollar” sign. The totals of certain columns were rather 
startling. 

“Guess she’s a millionaire if that’s her own money she’s 
been figgering,” said Stevens. “Notice that figger there ! ” 
He pointed with a stubby forefinger. “Pretty near a 
billion, ain’t it.?^” 

“Seven hundred and fifty thousand,” said Aldous. 

He was thinking of the “pound” sign. She had not 
looked like the Englishwomen he had met. He folded 
the slip of paper and put it in his pocket. 

Stevras eyed him seriously. 

“I was coming over to give you a bit of advice before 
I left for the Maligne Lake country,” he said. “You^d 


80 THE HUNTED WOMAN 

better move. Quade won’t want you around after this 
Besides ” 

‘‘What?” 

/^“My kid heard something,” continued the packer, edg^ 
ing nearer. “You was mighty good to the kid when I was 
downpan’ out, Aldous. I ought to tell you. It wasn’t 
an hour ago the kid was behind the tent an’ he heard 
Quade and Slim Barker talking. So far as I can find 
from the kid, Quade has gone nutty over her. He’s 
ravin’. He told Slim that he’d give ten thousand dollars 
to get her in his hands. What sent the boy down to me 
was Quade tellin’ Slim that he’d get you first. He told 
Slim to go on to Tete Jaune — ^follow the girl!” 

“The deuce you say ! ” cried Aldous, clutching the other’s 
arm suddenly. “He’s done that?” 

“That’s what the kid says.” 

Aldous rose to his feet slowly. The careless smile was 
playing about his mouth again. A few men had learned 
that in those moments John Aldous was dangerous. 

“The kid is undoubtedly right,” he said, looking down 
at Stevens. “But I am quite sure the yoimg woman is 
capable of taking care of herself. Quade has a tremendous 
amount of nerve, setting Slim to follow her, hasn’t he? 
Slim may run up against a husband or a brother.” 

Stevens haunched his shoulders. 

“It’s not the woman I’m thinking about. It’s you. 
I’d sure change my location.” 

“Why wouldn’t it be just as well if I told the police 
of his threat?” asked Aldous, looking across the river with 
a glimmer of humour in his eyes. 

“Oh, hell!” was the packer’s rejoinder. 


THE HUNTED WOMAN 


SI 


Slowly he unwound his long legs and rose to his feet, 
“Take my advice — ^move!” he said. “As for me, I^m 
going to cross that cussed river this afternoon or know 
the reason why.” 

He stalked away in the direction of his outfit, chewing 
viciously at his quid. For a few moments Aldous «tood 
undecided. He would liked to have joined the half-dozen 
men he saw lounging restfully a distance beyond the 
grazing ponies. But Stevens had made him acutely aware 
of a new danger. He was thinking of his cabin— and the 
priceless achievement of his last months of work, his 

manuscript. K Quade should destroy that 

He clenched his hands and walked swiftly toward his 
camp. To “burn out” an enemy was one of Quade’s 
favourite methods of retaliation. He had heard this. He 
also knew that Quade’s work was done so cleverly that 
the police had been imable to call him to account. 

Quade’s status had interested Aldous from the begin- 
ning. He had discovered that Quade and Culver Rann, 
his partner at T^te Jaune, were forces to be reckoned with 
even by the “powers” along the line of rail. They were 
the two chiefs of the “underground,” the men who con- 
trolled the most dangerous element from Miette to Fort 
George. He had once seen Culver Rann, a quiet, keen- 
eyed, immaculately groomed man of forty — the cleverest 
scoimdrel that had ever drifted into the Canadian west. 
He had been told that Rann was really the brain of the 
combination, and that the two had picked up a quarter of 
a million in various ways. But it was Quade with whom 
he had to deal now, and he began to thank Stevens for 
his warning. He was filled with a sense of relief when he 


S2 


THE HUNTED WOMAN 


reached his cabin and found it as he had left it. He 
always made a carbon copy of his work. This copy he 
now put into a waterproof tin box, and the box he con- 
cealed under a log a short distance back in the bush. 

‘‘Now go ahead, Quade,” he laughed to himself, a 
curious, almost exultant ring in his voice. “I haven’t 
had any real excitement for so long I can’t remember, and 
if you start the fim there’s going to be fun!” 

He returned to his birds, perched himself behind a bush 
at the river’s edge, and began skinning them. He had 
almost finished when he heard hoarse shouts from up the 
river. From his position he could see the stream a hundred 
yards below the ford. Stevens had driven in his horses. 
He could see them breasting the first sweep of the cmrent, 
their heads held high, struggling for the opposite shore. 
He rose, dropped his birds, and stared. 

“Good God, what a fool!” he gasped. 

He saw the tragedy almost before it had begun. Stili 
three hundred yards below the swimming horses was the 
gravelly bar which they must reach on the opposite side. 
He noted the grayish strip of smooth water that marked 
the end of the dead-line. Three or four of the stronger 
animals were forging steadily toward this. The others 
grouped close together, almost motionless in their last 
tremendous fight, were left farther and farther behind. 
Then came the break. A mare and her yearling colt had 
gone in with the bunch. Aldous saw the colt, with its 
small head and shoulders high out of the water, sweep 
down like a chip with the current. A cold chill ran 
through him as he heard the whinneying scream of the 
mother — a warning cry that held for him the pathos and 


THE HUNTED WOMAN 


33 


the despair of a creature that was human. He knew what 
it meant. “Wait — ^I’m coming — I’m coming! ” was in that 
cry. He saw the mare give up and follow resistlessly 
with the deadly current, her eyes upon her colt. The 
heads behind her wavered, then turned, and in another 
moment the herd was sweeping down to its destruction. 

Aldous felt like turning his head. But the spectacle 
fascinated him, and he looked. He did not think of 
Stevens and his loss as the first of the herd plunged in 
among the rocks. He stood with white face and clenched 
hands, leaning over the water boiling at his feet, cursing 
softly in his helplessness. To him came the last terrible 
cries of the perishing animals. He saw head after head 
go under. Out of the white spume of a great rock against 
which the flood split itself with the force of an avalanche 
he saw one horse pitched bodily, as if thrown from a huge 
catapault. The last animal had disappeared when chance 
turned his eyes upstream and close in to shore. Here 
flowed a steady current free of rock, and down this — ^head 
and shoulders still high out of the water — came the colt! 
What miracle had saved the little fellow thus far Aldous 
did not stop to ask. Fifty yards below it would meet the 
fate of the others. Half that distance in the direction of 
the maelstronf below was the dead trunk of a fallen spruce 
overhanging the water for fifteen or twenty feet. In a 
flash Aldous was racing toward it. He climbed out on it, 
leaned far over, and reached down. His hand touched 
the water. In the grim excitement of rescue he forgot 
his own peril. There was one chance in twenty that the 
colt would come within his reach, and it did. He made 
a single lunge and caught it by the ear. For a momei^l 


84 


THE HUNTED WOMAN 


after that his heart turned sick. Under the added strain 
4he dead spruce sagged down with a warning crack. But 
it held, and Aldous hung to his grip on the ear. Foot by 
foot he wormed his way back, until at last he had dragged 
the little animal ashore. 

And then a voice spoke behind him, a voice that he 
would have recognized among ten thousand, low, sweet, 
thrilling. 

‘‘That was splendid, John Aldous!” it said. “If I 
were a man I would want to be a man like you!” 

He turned. A few steps from him stood Joanne Gray. 
Her face was as white as the bit of lace at her throat. Her 
lips were colourless, and her bosom rose and fell swiftly. 
He knew that she, too, had witnessed the tragedy. And 
the eyes that looked at him were glorious. 


CHAPTER IV 


T O JOHN ALDOUS Joanne’s appearance at this 
moment was like an anti-climax. It plunged him 
headlongfor a single moment into what he believed 
to be the absurdity of a situation. He had a quick mental 
picture of himself out on the dead spruce, performing a 
bit of mock-heroism by dragging in a half-drowned colt 
by one ear. In another instant this had passed, and he 
was wondering why Joanne Gray was not on her way to 
Tete Jaune. 

‘^It was splendid!” she was saying again, her eyes 
glowing at him. ‘‘I know men who would not have 
risked that for a human!” 

“Perhaps they would have been showing good judg- 
ment,” replied Aldous. 

He noticed now that she was holding with one hand 
the end of a long slender sapling which a week or two 
before he had cut and trimmed for a fish-pole. He nodded 
toward it, a half-cynical smile on his lips. 

“Were you going to fish me out — or the colt.?^” he asked. 
“You,” she replied. “I thought you were in danger.” 
And then she added, “I suppose you are deeply grateful 
fhat fate did not compel you to be saved by a woman.” 

“Not at all. If the spruce had snapped, I would have 
caught at the end of your sapling like any drowning rat — 
or man. Allow me to thank you.” 

35 


86 


THE HUNTED WOMAN 


She had stepped down to the level strip of sand on 
which the colt was weakly struggling to rise to its feet. 
She was breathing quickly. Her face was still pale. She 
was without a hat, and as she bent for a moment over the 
colt Aldous felt his eyes drawn irresistibly to the soft thick 
coils of her hair, a glory of colour that made him think 
of the lustrous brown of a ripe wintelberry. She looked 
up suddenly and caught his eyes upon her. 

“I came quite by accident,’’ she explained quickly. 
‘‘I wanted to be alone, and Mrs, Otto said this path would 
lead to the river. When I saw you I was about to turn 
back. And then I saw the other — the horses coming 
down the stream. It was terrible. Are they all drowned ? ” 

‘‘All that you saw. It wasn’t a pretty sight, was it?’* 
There was a suggestive inquiry in his voice as he added, 
“If you had gone to T^te Jaune you would have missed 
the unpleasantness of the spectacle.” 

“I would have gone, but something happened. They 
say it was a cave-in, a slide — something like that. The 
train cannot go on until to-morrow.” 

“And you are to stay with the Ottos?’ 

She nodded. 

Quick as a flash she had seemed to read his thoughts. 

“I am sorry,” she added, before he could speak. “I 
can see that I have annoyed you. I have literally pro- 
jected myself into your work, and I am afraid that I have 
caused you trouble. Mrs. Otto has told me of this man 
they call Quade. She says he is dangerous. And I have 
made him your enemy.” 

“I am not afraid of Quade. The incident was nothing 
more than an agreeable interruption to what was becoming 


THE HUNTED WOMAN 


37 


a rather monotonous existence up here. I have always 
beheved, you know, that a certain amount of physical 
excitement is good oil for our mental machinery. That, 
perhaps, was why you caught me hauling at His Coltship^s 
«ar.” 

He had spoken stiffly. There was a hard note in his 
voice, a suggestion of something that was displeasing in 
his forced laugh. He knew that in these moments he was 
fighting against his inner self — against his desire to tell 
her how glad he was that something had held back the 
Tete Jaime train, and how wonderful her hair looked in 
the afternoon sun. He was struggling to keep himself 
behind the barriers he had built up and so long maintained 
in his writings. And yet, as he looked, he felt something 
crumbling into ruins. He knew that he had hurt her. 
The hardness of his words, the coldness of his smile, his 
apparently utter indifference to her had sent something 
that was almost like a quick, physical pain into her eyes. 
He drew a step nearer, so that he caught the soft contour 
of her cheek. Joanne Gray heard him, and lowered her 
head slightly, so that he could not see. She was a moment 
too late. On her cheek Aldous saw a single creeping 
drop — a tear. 

In an instant he was at her side. With a quick move- 
ment she brushed the tear away before she faced 
him. 

‘TVe hurt you,” he said, looking her straight in the 
eyes. ‘‘IVe hurt you, and God knows I'm a brute for 
doing it. I've treated you as badly as Quade — only in a 
different way. I know how I've made you feel — ^that 
you've been a nuisance, and have got me into trouble^ 


38 


THE HUNTED WOMAN 


and that I don’t want to have anything more to do with 
you. Have I made you feel that?” 

“I am afraid — ^you have.” 

He reached out a hand, and almost involuntarily her 
own came to it. She saw the change in his face, regret, 
pain, and then that slow-coming, wonderful laughter in 
his eyes, 

“That’s just how I set out to make you feel,” he con- 
fessed, the warmth of her hand sending a thrill through 
him. “I might as well be frank, don’t you think? Until 
you came I had but one desire, and that was to finish my 
book. I had planned great work for to-day. And you 
spoiled it. I couldn’t get you out of my mind. And it 
made me — ^ugly.” 

“And that was — all?” she whispered, a tense waiting 
in her eyes. “You didn’t think ” 

“What Quade thought,” he bit in sharply. The grip of 
his fingers hurt her hand. “No, not that. My God, I 
didn’t make you think that?** 

“I’m a stranger — ^and they say women don’t go to Tdte 
Jaune alone,” she answered doubtfully. 

“That’s true, they don’t — ^not as a general rule. Es- 
pecially women like you. You’re alone, a stranger, and 
too beautiful. I don’t say that to flatter you. You are 
beautiful, and you undoubtedly know it. To let you go 
on alone and improtected among three or four thousand 
men like most of those up there would be a crime. And 
the women, too — ^thc Little Sisters. They’d blast you. 
If you had a husband, a brother or a father waiting for 
you it would be different. But you’ve told me you 
haven’t. You have made me change my mind about my 


THE HUNTED WOMAN 


39 


book. You are of more interest to me just now than that« 
Will you believe me? Will you let me be a friend, if you 
need a friend?’’ 

To Aldous it seemed that she drew herself up a little 
proudly. For a moment she seemed taller. A rose-flush 
of coloiu* spread over her cheeks. She drew her hand 
from him. And yet, as she looked at him, he could see 
that she was glad. 

“Yes, I believe you,” she said. “But I must not accept 
your offer of friendship. You have done more for me now 
than I can ever repay. Friendship means service, and to 
serve me would spoil your plans, for you are in great haste 
to complete your book.” 

“If you mean that you need my assistance, the book 
can wait.” 

“I shouldn’t have said that,” she cut in quickly, her lips 
tightening slightly. “It was utterly absurd of me to hint 
that I might require assistance — that I cannot take care 
of myself. But I shall be proud of the friendship of John 
Aldous.” 

“Yes, you can take care of yourself. Lady gray,” said 
Aldous softly, looking into her eyes and yet speaking as 
if to himself. “That is why you have broken so curiously 
into my life. It’s that — and not your beauty. I have 
known beautiful women before. But they were — just 
women, frail things that might snap under stress. I have 
always thought there is only one woman in ten thousand 
who would not do that — imder certain conditions. I 
believe you are that one in ten thousand. You can go on 
to T6te Jaune alone. You can go anywhere alone — ^and 
«are for yourself.” 


40 


THE HUNTED WOMAN 


He was looking at her so strangely that she held her 
breath, her lips parted, the flush in her cheeks deepening, 

"‘And the strangest part of it all is that I have always 
known you away back in my imagination,” he lyent on. 
“You have lived there, and have troubled me, I could 
not construct you perfectly. It is almost inconceivable 
that you should have borne the same name — ^Joanne. 
Joanne, of "Fair Play.’” 

She gave a little gasp. 

""Joanne was — terrible,” she cried. ""She was bad — ^bad 
to the heart and soul of her!” 

""She was splendid,” replied Aldous, without a change 
in his quiet voice. ""She was splendid — but bad. I 
racked myself to And a soul for her, and I failed. And yet 
she was splendid. It was my crime — not hers — that she 
lacked a soul. She would have been my ideal, but I 
spoiled her. And by spoiling her I sold half a million 
copies of the book. I did not do it purposely. I would 
have given her a soul if I could have found one. She went 
her way.” 

""And you compare me to — her?^^ 

"" Yes,” said Aldous deliberately. "" You are that Joanne. 
But you possess what I could not give to her. Joanne of 
"Fair Play’ was splendid without a soul. You have what 
she lacked. You may not understand, but you have 
come to perfect what I only partly created.” 

The colour had slowly ebbed from Joanne’s face. There 
was a mysterious darkness in her eyes. 

""If you were not John Aldous I would — strike you,’^ 
she said. ""As it is — ^yes — ^I want you as a friend.” 

She held out her hand. For a moment he felt its 


THE HUNTED WOMAN 


41 


warmth again in his own. He bowed over it. Her eyes 
rested steadily on his blond head, and again she noted 
the sprinkle of premature gray in his hair. For a second 
time she felt almost overwhelmingly the mysterious 
strength of this man. Perhaps each took three breaths 
before John Aldous raised his head. In that time some- 
thing wonderful and complete passed between them. 
Neither could have told the other what it was. When their 
eyes met again, it was in their faces. 

“I have planned to have supper in my cabin to-night,'* 
said Aldous, breaking the tension of that first moment, 
** Won’t you be my guest, Ladygray?” 

‘‘Mrs. Otto ” she began. 

“I will go to her at once and explain that you are going 
■;o eat partridges with me,” he interrupted. “Come — ^let 
me show you into my workshop and home.” 

He led her to the cabin and into its one big room. 

“You will make yourself at home while I am gone, 
won’t you?” he invited. “If it will give you any pleasure 
you may peel a few potatoes. I won’t be gone ten min- 
utes.” 

Not waiting for any protest she might have, Aldous 
slipped back through the door and took the path up to 
the Ottos’. 


CHAPTER V 


SOON as he had passed from the view of the 



cabin door Aldous shortened his pace. He knew 


X JL that never in his life had he needed to readjust 
himself more than at the present moment. A quarter of 
an hour had seen a complete and miraculous revolution 
within him. It was a change so unusual and apparently 
so impossible that he could not grasp the situation and 
the fact all at once. But the truth of it swept over him 
more and more swiftly as he made his way along the dark, 
narrow trail that led up to the Miette Plain. It was 
something that not only amazed and thrilled him. First — 
as in all things — ^he saw the humour of it. He, John 
Aldous of all men, had utterly obliterated himself, anc^ 
for a woman. He had even gone so far as to offer the 
sacrifice of his most important work. Frankly he had 
told Joanne that she interested him more just now than 
his book. Again he repeated to himself that it had not 
been a surrender — ^but an obliteration. With a pair of 
lovely eyes looking quietly into him, he had wiped the 
slate clean of the things he had preached for ten years and 
the laws he had made for himself. And as he came in 
sight of the big Otto tent, he found himself smiling, his 
breath coming quickly, strange voices singing within him. 

He stopped to load and light his pipe before he faced 
Mrs. Otto, and he clouded himself in as much smoke a^» 


THE HUNTED WOMAN 


43 


possible while he explained to her that he had almost 
forced Joanne to stop at his cabin and eat partridges with 
him. He learned that the Tete Jaune train could not go 
on until the next day, and after Mrs. Otto had made him 
take a loaf of fresh bread and a can of home-made marma- 
lade as a contribution to their feast, he turned back toward 
the cabin, trying to whistle in his old careless way. 

The questions he had first asked himself about Joanne 
forced themselves back upon him now with deeper import. 
Almost unconsciously he had revealed himself to her. He 
had spread open for her eyes and understanding the page 
which he had so long hidden. He had as much as con- 
fessed to her that she had come to change him — ^to complete 
what he had only half created. It had been an almost 
inconceivable and daring confession, and he believed that 
she understood him. More than that, she had read about 
him. She had read his books. She knew John Aldous — 
the man. 

But what did he know about her beyond the fact that 
her name was Joanne Gray, and that the on-sweeping 
Horde had brought her into his life as mysteriously as a 
storm might have flung him a bit of down from a swan’s 
breast? Where had she come from? And why was she 
going to TSte Jaune? It must be some important motive 
was taking her to a place like T6te Jaune, the rail-end, a 
place of several thousand men, with its crude muscle and 
brawn and the seven passions of man. It was an impossi- 
ble place for a young and beautiful woman improtected. 
If Joanne had known any one among the engineers or 
contractors, or had she possessed a letter of introduction 
to them, the tense lines would not have gathered so deeply 


44 


THE HUNTED WOMAN 


about the corners of Aldous^ mouth. But these men 
whose brains were behind the Horde — ^the engineers and 
the contractors — ^knew what women alone and unprotected 
meant at Tete Jaune. Such women floated in with the 
Horde. And Joanne was going in with the Horde. There 
lay the peril — and the mystery of it, 
y So engrossed was Aldous in his thoughts that he had 
come very quietly to the cabin door. It was Joanne’s 
voice that roused him. Sweet and low she was singing a 
few lines from a song which he had never heard. 

She stopped when Aldous appeared at the door. It 
seemed to him that her eyes were a deeper, more wonderful 
blue as she looked up at him, and smiled. She had found 
a towel for an apron, and was peeUng potatoes. 

**You will have some unusual excuses to make very 
^on,” she greeted him. ‘‘We had a visitor while you 
were gone. I was washing the potatoes when I looked 
up to find a pair of the fiercest, reddest moustaches I have 
ever seen, ornamenting the doorway. The man had two 
eyes that seemed about to fall out when he saw me. He 
popped away like a rabbit — and — ^and — ^th^re’s something 
he left behind in his haste!” 

Joanne’s eyes were flooded with laughter as she nodded 
at the door. On the sill was a huge quid of tobacco. 

“Stevens!” Aldous chuckled. “God bless my soul, if 
you frightened him into giving up a quid of tobacco Uke 
that you sure did startle him some!” He kicked Stevens’ 
lost property out with the toe of his boot and turned to 
Joanne, showing her the fresh bread and marmalade. 
*‘Mrs. Otto sent these to you,” he said. “And the train 
won’t leave imtil to-morrowc” 


THE HUNTED WOIVIAN 


45 


In her silenee he pulled a chair in front of her, sat down 
close, and thrust the point of his hunting knife into ona 
of the two remaining potatoes. 

^‘And when it does go I’m going with you,” he added. 

He expected this announcement would have some eflEect 
on her. As she jumped up with the pan of potatoes, 
leaving the one still speared on the end of his knife, he 
caught only the corner of a bewitching smile. 

“You still believe that I will be imable to take care of 
myself up at this terrible Tete Jaime?” she asked, bending 
for a moment over the table. “ Do you? ” 

“No. You can care for yourself anywhere, Ladygray,” 
he repeated. “But I am quite sure that it will be less 
troublesome for me to see that no insults are offered you 
than for you to resent those insults when they come. 
Tete Jaune is full of Quades,” he added. 

The smile was gone from her face when she turned to 
him. Her blue eyes were filled with a tense anxiety. 

“I had almost forgotten that man,” she whispered, 
“i^nd you mean that you would fight for me — again?’® 

“A thousand times.” 

The colour grew deeper in her cheeks. “I read some- 
thing about you once that I have never forgotten, John 
Aldous,” she said. “It was after you returned from 
Thibet. It said that you were largely made up of two 
emotions — ^your contempt for woman and your love of 
adventure; that it would be impossible for you not to see 
a flaw in one, and that for the other — ^physical excitement — 
you would go to the ends of the earth. Perhaps it is 
t.his — ^your desire for adventure — that makes you want to 
%o with me to T^te Jaune?” 


46 


THE HUNTED WOMAN 


am beginning to believe that it will be the greatest 
adventure of my life,” he replied, and something in his 
quiet voice held her silent. He rose to his feet, and stood 
before her. “It is already the Great Adventure,” he 
went on. “I feel it. And I am the one to judge. Until 
to-day I would have staked my life that no power could 
have wrung from me the confession I am going to make 
to you volimtarily. I have laughed at the opinion the 
world has held of me. To me it has all been a colossal 
joke. I have enjoyed the hundreds of columns aimed at 
me by excited women through the press. They have all 
asked the same question: Why do you not write of the 
good things in women instead of always the bad? I have 
never given them an answer. But I answer you now — ^here. 
I have not picked upon the weaknesses of women because 
I despise them. Those weaknesses — ^the destroying frail- 
ties of womankind — have driven over roughshod through 
the pages of my books because I have always believed 
that Woman was the one thing which God came nearest 
to creating perfect. I believe they should be perfect. And 
because they have not quite that perfection which should 
be theirs I have driven the cold facts home as hard as I 
could. I have been a fool and an iconoclast instead of a 
builder. This confession to you is proof that you have 
brought me face to face with the greatest adventure of all.” 

The colour in her cheeks had centred in two bright 
spots. Her lips formed words which came slowly, 
strangely. 

“I guess — understand,” she said. “Perhaps I, too, 
Would have been that kind of an iconoclast — ^if I could 
have put the things I have thought into 'bitten worda” 


THE HUNTED WOMAN 


47 


She drew a deep breath, and went on, her eyes full upon 
him, speaking as if out of a dream. “The Great Adven- 
ture — ^for you. Yes; and perhaps for both/’ 

Her hands were drawn tightly to her breast. Something 
about her as she stood there, her back to the table, drew 
John Aldous to her side, forced the question from his lips: 
“Tell me, Ladygray — ^why are you going to T^te Jaune?” 

In that same strange way, as if her lips were framing 
words beyond their power to control, she answered: 

“I am going — to find — ^my husband/’ 


CHAPTER VI 


S ILENT, his head bowed a little, John Aldous 
stood before her after those last words, A slight 
noise outside gave him the pretext to turn to the 
door. She was going to T^te Jaime — to find her husband! 
He had not expected that. For a breath, as he looked 
out toward the bush, his mind was in a strange daze. A 
dozen times she had given him to understand there was no 
husband, father, or brother waiting for her at the rail-end. 
She had told him that she was alone — ^without friends. 
And now, like a confession, those words had come strangely 
from her lips. 

What he had heard was one of Otto’s pack-horses coming 
down to drink. He turned toward her again. 

Joanne stood with her back still to the table. She had 
slipped a hand into the front of her dress and had drawn 
forth a long thick envelope. As she opened it, Aldous 
saw that it contained banknotes. From among these she 
picked out a bit of paper and offered it to him. 

“That will explain — ^partly,” she said. 

It was a newspaper clipping, worn and faded, with a 
date two years old. It had apparently been cut from an 
English paper, and told briefly of the tragic death of 
Mortimer FitzHugh, son of a prominent Devonshire 
family, who had lost his life while on a hunting trip in the 
British Columbia Wilds. 


48 


THE HUNTED WOMAN 


49 


‘‘He was my husband,” said Joanne, as Aldous finished' 
“Until six months ago I had no reason to believe that the 
statement in the paper was not true. Then — ^an acquain- 
tance came out here hunting. He returned with a strange 
story. He declared that he had seen Mr. FitzHugh alive. 
Now you know why I am here. I had not meant to tell 
you. It places me in a light which I do not think that 
I can explain away — ^just now. I have come to prove or 
disprove his death. If he is alive ” 

For the first time she betrayed the struggle she was 
making against some powerful emotion which she was 
fighting to repress. Her face had paled. She stopped 
herself with a quick breath, as if knowing that she had 
already gone too far. 

“I guess I understand,” said Aldous. “For some 
reason your anxiety is not that you will find him dead, 
Ladygray, but that you may find him alive.” 

“Yes — yeSy that is it. But you must not urge me 
farther. It is a terrible thing to say. You will think I 
am not a woman, but a fiend. And I am your guest. 
You have invited me to supper. And — ^the potatoes are 
ready, and there is no fire!” 

She had forced a smile back to her lips. John Aldous 
whirled toward the door. 

“I will have the partridges in two seconds!” he cried. 
“I dropped them when the horses went through the 
rapids.” 

The oppressive and crushing effect of Joanne’s first 
mention of a husband was gone. He made no effort to 
explain or analyze the two sudden changes that swept over 
him. He accepted them as facts, and that was all. 


BO 


THE HUNTED WOMAN 


Where a few moments before there had been the leaden 
grip of something that seemed to be physically choking 
him, there was now again the strange buoyancy with which 
he had gone to the Otto tent. He began to whistle as 
he went to the river's edge. He was whistling when he 
returned, the two birds in his hand. Joanne was waiting 
for him in the door. Again her face was a faintly tinted 
vision of tranquil loveliness; her eyes were again like the 
wonderful blue pools over the simlit mountains. She 
smiled as he came up. He was amazed — ^not that she 
had recovered so completely from the emotional excite-* 
ment that had racked her, but because she betrayed in no 
way a sign of grief — of suspense or of anxiety. A few 
minutes ago he had heard her singing. He could almost 
believe that her lips might break into song again as she 
stood there. 

From that moment until the sun sank behind the 
mountains and gray shadows began to creep in where the 
light had been, there was no other reference to the things 
that had happened or the things that had been said since 
Joanne's arrival. For the first time in years John Aldous 
completely forgot his work. He was lost in Joanne. 
With the tremendous reaction that was working out in 
him she became more and more wonderful to him with 
each breath that he drew. He made no effort to control 
the change that was sweeping through him. His one 
effort was to keep it from being too apparent to her. 

The way in which Joanne had taken his invitation was 
as delightful as it was new to him. She had become both 
guest and hostess. With her lovely arms bared halfway 
to the shoulders she rolled out a batch of biscuits. ‘‘Hot 


THE HUNTED WOMAN 


51 


biscuits go so well with marmalade,” she told him. He 
built a fire. Beyond that, and bringing in the water, she 
gave him to understand that his duties were at an end, 
and that he could smoke while she prepared the supper. 
With the beginning of dusk he closed the cabin door that 
he might have an excuse for lighting the big hanging lamp 
a little earlier. He had imagined how its warm glow 
would flood down upon the thick soft coils of her shining 
hair. 

Every fibre in him throbbed with a keen and exquisite 
satisfaction as he sat down opposite her. During the 
meal he looked into the quiet, velvety blue of her eyes a 
hundred times. He found it a delightful sensation to talk 
to her and look into those eyes at the same time. He told 
her more about himself than he had ever told another soul. 
It was she who spoke first of the manuscript upon which 
he was working. He had spoken of certain adventures 
that had led up to the writing of one of his books. 

“And this last book you are writing, which you call 
^Mothers,’” she said. “Is it to be like ‘Fair Play?’” 

“It was to have been the last of the trilogy. But it 
won’t be now. Lady gray. I’ve changed my mind,” 

“But it is so nearly finished, you say?” 

“I would have completed it this week. I was rushing 
it to an end at fever heat when — ^you came.” 

He saw the troubled look in her eyes, and hastened to 
add: 

“Let us not talk about that manuscript. Lady gray. 
Some day I will let you read it, and then you will under- 
stand why your coming has not hurt it. At first I was 
unreasonably disturbed because I thought that I must 


52 


THE HUNTED WOMAN 


finish it within a week from to-day. I start out on a 
new adventure then — a strange adventure, into the 
North.” 

‘‘That means — ^the wild country?” she asked. “Up 
there in the North — there are no people?” 

“An occasional Indian, perhaps a prospector now and 
then,” he said. “Last year I travelled a hundred and 
twenty-seven days without seeing a human face except 
that of my Cree companion.” 

She had leaned a little over the table, and was looking 
at him intently, her eyes shining. 

“That is why I have understood you, and read between 
the printed lines in your books,” she said. “If I had been 
a man, I would have been a great deal like you. I love 
those things — ^loneliness, emptiness, the great spaces where 
you hear only the whisperings of the winds and the fall 
of no other feet but your own. Oh, I should have been a 
man! It was born in me. It was a part of me. And I 
loved it — Gloved it.” 

A poignant grief had shot into her eyes. Her voice 
broke almost in a sob. Amazed, he looked at her in 
silence across the table, 

“You have lived that life, La.dygray?” he said after a 
moment. “You have seen it?” 

“Yes,” she nodded, clasping and imclasping her slim 
white hands. “For years and years, perhaps even more 
than you, John Aldous! I was born in it. And it was 
my life for a long time — ^until my father died.” She 
paused, and he saw her struggling to subdue the quivering 
throb in her throat. “We were inseparable,” she went on„ 
her voice becoming suddenly strange and quiet. “He 


THE HUNTED WOMAN 


53 


was father, mother — everything to me. It was too won- 
derful. Together we hunted out the mysteries and the 
strange things in the out-of-the-way places of the earth. 
It was his passion. He had given birth to it in me. 1 
was always with him, everywhere. And then he died, 
soon after his discovery of that wonderful buried city of 
Mindano, in the heart of Africa. Perhaps you have 
read ” 

“Good God,” breathed Aldous, so low that his voice 
did not rise above a whisper. “Joanne — ^Ladygray — ^you 
are not speaking of Daniel Gray — Sir Daniel Gray, the 
Egyptologist, the antiquarian who uncovered the secrets 
of an ancient and wonderful civilization in the heart of 
darkest Africa?” 

“Yes.” 

“And you — ^are his daughter?” 

She bowed her head. 

Like one in a dream John Aldous rose from his chair 
and went to her. He seized her hands and drew her up 
so that they stood face to face. Again that strange and 
beautiful calmness filled her eyes. 

“Our trails have strangely crossed. Lady Joanne,” 
he said. “They have been crossing — ^for years. While 
Sir Daniel was at Murja, on the eve of his great discovery, 
I was at St. Louis on the Senegal coast. I slept in that 
little Cape Verde hotel, in the low whitewashed room 
overlooking the sea. The proprietor told me that Sir 
Daniel had occupied it before me, and I found a broken 
fountain pen in the drawer of that sickly black teakwood 
desk, with the carved serpent’s head. And I was at 
Gampola at another time, headed for the interior of 


54 


THE HUNTED WOMAN 


Ceylon, when I learned that I was travelling again one of 
Sir Daniel’s trails. And you were with him!” 

Always,” said Joanne. 

For a few tense moments they had looked steadily into 
each other’s eyes. Swiftly, strangely, the world was bridg- 
ing itself for them. Their minds swept back swiftly as 
the fire in a thunder-sky. They were no longer strangers. 
They were no longer friends of a day. The grip of Aldous’ 
hands tightened. A hundred things sprang to his lips. 
Before he could speak, he saw a sudden, startled change 
leap into Joanne’s face. She had turned her face a little, 
so that she was looking toward the window. A frightened 
cry broke from her lips. Aldous whirled about. There 
was nothing there. He looked at Joanne again. She was 
white and trembling. Her hands were clutched at her 
breast. Her eyes, big and dark and staring, were still fixed 
on the window. 

‘‘That man!” she panted. “His face was there— 
against the glass — ^like a devil’s!” 

“Quade?” 

“Yes.” 

She caught at his arm as he sprang toward the door. 

“Stop!” she cried. “You mustn’t go out ” 

For a moment he turned at the door. He was as she 
had seen him in Quade’s place, terribly cool, a strange, 
quiet smile on his lips. His eyes were gray, smiling steel. 

“Close the door after me and lock it imtil I return,” he 
said. “You are the first woman guest I ever had. Lady- 
gray. I cannot allow you to be insulted!” 

As he went out she saw him slip something from his 
pocket. She caught the glitter of it in the lamp-glow. 


CHAPTER Vn 


I T WAS in the blood of John Aldous to kill Quade. 
He ran with the quickness of a hare around the end 
of the cabin, past the window, and then stopped to 
listen, his automatic in his hand, his eye piercing the 
gloom for some moving shadow. He had not counted on 
an instant’s hesitation. He would shoot Quade, for he 
knew why the mottled beast had been at the window. 
Stevens’ boy had been right. Quade was after Joanne. 
His ugly soul was disrupted with a desire to possess her, 
and Aldous knew that when roused by passion he was 
more like a devil-fish than a man — a creeping, slimy, 
night-seeking creature who had not only the power of the 
underworld back of him, but wealth as well. He did not 
think of him as a man as he stood listening, but as a beast. 
He was ready to shoot. But he saw nothing. He heard 
no sound that could have been made by a stumbling foot or 
a moving body. An hour later, the moon would have been 
up, but it was dark now except for the stars. He heard the 
hoot of an owl a hundred yards away. Out in the river 
something splashed. From the timber beyond Buffalo 
Prairie came the yapping bark of a coyote. For five minutes 
he stood as silent as one of the rocks behind him. He 
realized that to go on — to seek blindly for Quade in the 
darkness, would be folly. He went back, tapped at the door, 
and reentered the cabin when Joanne threw back the lock. ^ 


55 


66 


THE HUNTED WOMAN 


She was still pale. Her eyes were bright. 

“I was coming — ^in a moment,” she said. ‘‘I was 
beginning to fear that ” 

‘‘ — he had struck me down in the dark?” added Aldous, 
as she hesitated. ‘‘Well, he would like to do just that, 
Joanne.” Unconsciously her name had slipped from him. 
It seemed the most natural thing in the world for him to 
call her Joanne now. “Is it necessary for me to tell you 
what this man Quade is — why he was looking through the 
window? ” 

She shuddered. 

“ No — ^no — I understand ! ” 

“Only partly,” continued Aldous, his face white and 
set. “It is necessary that you should know more than 
you have guessed, for your own protection. If you were 
like most other women I would not tell you the truth, but 
would try to shield you from it. As it is you should know. 
There is only one other man in the Rocky Mountains 
more dangerous than Bill Quade. He is Culver Rann, up 
at Tete Jaune. They are partners — ^partners in crime, in 
sin, in everything that is bad and that brings them gold. 
Their influence among the rougher elements along the line 
of rail is complete. They are so strongly entrenched that 
they have put contractors out of business because they 
would not submit to blackmail. The few harmless police 
we have following the steel have been unable to touch 
them. They have cleaned up hundreds of thousands, 
chiefly in three things — blackmail, whisky, and women. 
Quade is the viler of the two. He is like a horrible beast. 
Culver Rann makes me think of a sleek and shining ser* 
pent. But it is this man Quade ” 


THE HUNTED WOMAN 


5T 

He found it almost impossible to go on with Joanne’s 
blue eyes gazing so steadily into his. 

‘‘ — ^whom we have made our enemy,” she finished for 
him. 

“Yes — and more than that,” he said, partly turning his 
head away. “You cannot go on to T6te Jaune alone, 
Joanne. You must go nowhere alone. If you do ” 

“What will happen?” 

“I don’t know. Perhaps nothing would happen. But 
you cannot go alone. I am going to take you back to 
Mrs. Otto now. And to-morrow I shall go on to Tete 
Jaime with you. It is fortunate that I have a place up 
there to which I can take you, and where you will be 
safe.” 

As they were preparing to go, Joanne glanced ruefully 
at the table. 

“I am ashamed to leave the dishes in that mess,” she 
t^aid. 

He laughed, and tucked her hand under his arm as they 
went through the door. When they had passed through 
the little clearing, and the darkness of the spruce and 
balsam walls shut them in, he took her hand. 

“It is dark and you may stumble,” he apologized. 
**This isn’t much like the shell plaza in front of the Cape 
Verde, is it?” 

“No. Did you pick up any of the little red bloodshells? 
I did, and they made me shiver. There were strange 
stories associated with them.” 

He knew that she was staring ahead into the blank wall 
of gloom as she spoke, and that it was not thought of the 
bloodshells, but of Quade, that made her fingers closi 


58 


THE HUNTED WOMAN 


more tightly about his own. His right hand was gripping 
the butt of his automatic. Every nerve in him was on the 
alert, yet she could detect nothing of caution or prepared- 
ness in his careless voice. 

^‘The bloodstones didn't trouble me,” he answered. 

can't remember anything that upset me more than the 
snakes. I am a terrible coward when it comes to anything 
that crawls without feet. I will run from a snake no 
longer than your little finger — in fact, I'm just as scared 
of a little grass snake as I am of a python. It's the thingy 
and not its size, that horrifies me. Once I jumped out of 
a boat into ten feet of water because my companion caught 
an eel on his line, and persisted in the argument that it 
was a fish. Thank Heaven we don't have snakes up here. 
I've seen only three or four in all my experience in the 
Northland.” 

She laughed softly in spite of the uneasy thrill the night 
held for her. 

‘Tt is hard for me to imagine you being afraid,” she 
said. ‘‘And yet if you were afraid I know it would be of 
just some little thing like that. My father was one of the 
bravest men in the world, and a hundred times I have seen 
him show horror at sight of a spider. If you were afraid 
of snakes, why did you go up the Gampola, in Ceylon?” 

“I didn't know the snakes were there,” he chuckled. 
“I hadn't dreamed there were a half so many snakes in 
the whole world as there were along that confounded river. 
I slept sitting up, dressed in rubber wading boots that 
came to my waist, and wore thick leather gloves. I got 
out of the coimtry at the earliest possible moment.” 

When they entered the edge of the Miette clearing and 


THE HUNTED WOMAN 


59 


saw the glow of lights ahead of them, Aldous caught the 
sudden upturn of his companion’s face, laughing at him in 
the starlight. 

“Kind, thoughtful John Aldous!” she whispered, as if 
to herself. “How nice of you it was to talk of such 
pleasant things while we were coming through that black, 
dreadful swamp — ^with a Bill Quade waiting for us on the 
side!” 

A low ripple of laughter broke from her lips, and he 
stopped dead in his tracks, forgetting to put the automatic 
back in his pocket. At sight of it the amusement died in 
her face. She caught his arm, and one of her hands seized 
the cold steel of the pistol. 

“Would he — daref'^ she demanded. 

“You can’t tell,” replied Aldous, putting the gun in his 
pocket. “And that was a creepy sort of conversation to 
load you down with, wasn’t it. Lady gray? I imagine 
you’ll catch me in all sorts of blunders like that.” He 
pointed ahead. “There’s Mrs. Otto now. She’s looking 
this way and wondering with all her big heart if you ought 
not to be at home and in bed.” 

The door of the Otto home was wide open, and sib 
houetted in the flood of light was the good-natured Scotch- 
woman. Aldous gave the whistling signal which she and 
her menfolk always recognized, and hurried on with Joanne. 

Before they had quite reached the tent-house, Joanne 
put a detaining hand on his arm. 

“I don’t want you to go back to the cabin to-night,’* 
she said. “The face at the window — ^was terrible. I am 
afraid. I don’t want you to be there alone.” 
words sent a warm glow through him. 


60 


THE HUNTED WOMAN 


‘‘Nothing will happen,” he assured hero “Quade will 
not come back.” 

“I don’t want you to return to the cabin,” she persisted 
“Is there no other place where you can stay?” 

“I might go down and console Stevens, and borrow a 
couple of his horse blankets for a bed if that will please 
you.” 

“It will,” she cried quickly. “If you don’t return to 
the cabin you may go on to T^te Jaune with me to-morrow. 
Is it a bargain?” 

“ It is ! ” he accepted eagerly. “ I don’t like to be chased 
out, but I’ll promise not to sleep in the cabin to-night.” 

Mrs. Otto was advancing to meet them. At the door 
he bade them good-night, and walked on in the direction 
of the lighted avenue of tents and shacks imder the trees. 
He caught a last look in Joanne’s eyes of anxiety and fear. 
Glancing back out of the darkness that swallowed him up, 
he saw her pause for a moment in the lighted doorway, and 
look in his direction. His heart beat faster. Joyously 
he laughed under his breath. It was strangely new and 
pleasing to have some one thinking of him in that way. 

He had not intended to go openly into the lighted 
avenue. From the moment he had plunged out into the 
night after Quade, his fighting blood was roused. He had 
subdued it while with Joanne, but his determination to 
find Quade and have a settlement with him had grown no 
less. He told himself that he was one of the few men 
along the line whom it would be difficult for Quade to 
harm in other than a physical way. He had no business 
that could be destroyed by the other’s underground 
methods, and he had no job to lose. Until he had see» 


THE HUNTED WOMAN 


61 


Joanne enter the scoimdrers red-and-white striped tent 
he had never hated a man as he now hated Quade. He had 
loathed him before, and had evaded him because the sight 
of him was unpleasant; now he wanted to grip his fingers 
around his thick ved throat. He had meant to come up 
behind Quade’s tent, but changed his mind and walked 
into the lighted trail between the two rows of tents and 
shacks, his hands thrust carelessly into his trousers pockets. 
The night carnival of the railroad builders was on. Coarse 
laughter, snatches of song, the click of pool balls and the 
chink of glasses mingled with the thrumming of three or 
four musical instruments along the lighted way. The 
phonograph in Quade’s place was going incessantly. Half 
a dozen times Aldous paused to greet men whom he knew. 
He noted that there was nothing new or different in their 
manner toward him. If they had heard of his troubW 
with Quade, he was certain they would have spoken of its> 
or at least would have betrayed some sign. For several 
minutes he stopped to talk with MacVeigh, a young 
Scotch surveyor. MacVeigh hated Quade, but he made 
no mention of him. Purposely he passed Quade’s tent 
and walked to the end of the street, nodding and looking 
closely at those whom he knew. It was becoming more 
and more evident to him that Quade and his pals were 
keeping the affair of the afternoon as quiet as possible. 
Stevens had heard of it. He wondered how. 

Aldous retraced his steps. As though nothing had hap- 
pened, he entered Quade’s place. There were a dozen men 
inside, and among them he recognized three who had been 
there that afternoon. He nodded to them. Slim Barker 
was in Quade’s place behind the counter. Barker was 


62 


THE HUNTED WOMAN 


Quade’s right-hand man at Miette, and there was a glitter 
in his rat-like eyes as Aldous leaned over the glass case at 
one end of the counter and asked for cigars. He fumbled 
a bit as he picked out half a dollar’s worth from the box« 
His eyes met Shm’s. 

‘‘Where is Quade?” he asked casually. 

Barker shrugged his shoulders. 

“Busy to-night,” he answered shortly. “Want to see 
him?” 

“No, not particularly. Only — I don’t want him to hold 
a grudge.” 

Barker replaced the box in the case and turned away. 
After lighting a cigar Aldous went out. He was sure that 
Quade had not returned from the river. Was he lying in 
wait for him near the cabin? The thought sent a sudden 
thrill through him. In the same breath it was gone. 
With half a dozen men ready to do his work, Aldous knew 
that Quade would not redden his own hands or place 
himself in any conspicuous risk. During the next hour he 
visited the places where Quade was most frequently seen. 
He had made up his mind to walk over to the engineers’ 
camp, when a small figure darted after him out of the 
gloom of the trees. 

It was Stevens’ boy. 

“Dad wants to see you down at the camp,” he whis- 
pered excitedly. “He says right away — an’ for no one to 
see you. He said not to let any one see me. I’ve been 
waiting for you to come out in the dark.” 

“Skip back and tell him I’ll come,” replied Aldou? 
quickly. “Be sure you mind what he says — and don’t le* 
any one see you!” 


THE HUNTED WOMAN 


The boy disappeared like a rabbit. Aldous looked back, 
and ahead, and then dived into the darkness after him. 

A quarter of an hour later he came out on the river close 
to Stevens’ camp. A little nearer he saw Stevens squatted 
close to a smouldering fire about which he was drying 
some clothes. The boy was huddled in a disconsolate 
heap near him. Aldous called softly, and Stevens slowly 
rose and stretched himself. The packer advanced to 
where he had screened himself behind a clump of bush. 
His first look at the other assured him that he was right 
in using caution. The moon had risen, and the light of it 
fell in the packer’s face. It was a dead, stonelike gray. 
His cheeks seemed thinner than when Aldous had seen 
him a few hours before and there was despair in the droop 
of his shoulders. His eyes were what startled Aldous. 
They were like coals of fire, and shifted swiftly from point 
to point in the bush. For a moment they stood silent. 

‘‘Sit down,” Stevens said then. “Get out of the moon- 
light. I’ve got something to tell you.” 

They crouched behind the bush. 

“You know what happened,” Stevens said, in a low 
voice. “I lost my outfit.” 

“Yes, I saw what happened, Stevens.” 

The packer hesitated for a moment. One of his big 
hands reached out and gripped John Aldous by the arm. 

“Let me ask you something before I go on,” he whis- 
pered. “You won’t take offence — ^because it’s necessary. 
She looked like an angel to me when I saw her up at the 

train. But you hnow. Is she good, or You know 

what we think of women who come in here alone. That’s 
why I ask.” 




THE HUNTED WOMAN 


“She^s what you thought she was, Stevens,” replied 
Aldous. “As pure and as sweet as she looks. The kind 
we like to fight for.” 

“I was sure of it, Aldous. That^s why I sent the kid 
for you. I saw her in your cabin — after the outfit went • 
to hell. When I come back to camp, Quade was here. I 
was pretty well broken up. Didn’t talk to him much. 
But he seen I had lost everything. Then he went on down 
to your place. He told me that later. But I guessed it 
soon as he come back. I never see him look like he did 
then. I’ll cut it short. He’s mad — loon mad — over that 
girl. I played the sympathy act, thinkin’ of you — an’ 
her. He hinted at some easy money. I let him under- 
stand that at the present writin’ I’d be willing to take 
money most any way, and that I didn’t have any particular 
likin’ for you. Then it come out. He made me a propo- 
sition.” 

Stevens lowered his voice, and stopped to peer again 
about the bush. 

“Go on,” urged Aldous. “We’re alone.” 

Stevens bent so near that his tobacco-laden breath 
swept his companion’s cheek. 

“He said he’d replace my lost outfit if I’d put you out 
of the way some time day after to-morrow!” 

“KiUme?” 

“Yes.” 

For a few moments there was a silence broken only by 
their tense breathing. Aldous had found the packer’s 
hand. He was gripping it hard. 

“Thank you, old man,” he said. “And he believes you 
will do it? ” 


THE HUNTED WOMAN 65 

**I told him I would — day after to-morrow — an* throw 
your body in the Athabasca.” 

“Splendid, Stevens! You’ve got Sherlock Holmes beat 
by a mile! And does he want you to do this pretty job 
because I gave him a crack on the jaw?” 

“Not a bit of it!” exclaimed Stevens quickly. “He 
knows the girl is a stranger and alone. You’ve taken an 
interest in her. With you out of the way, she won’t be 
missed. Dammit, man, don’t you know his system? And, 
if he ever wanted anything in his life he wants her. She’s 
turned that poison-blood of his into fire. He raved about 
her here. He’ll go the limit. He’ll do anything to get 
her. He’s so crazy I believe he’d give every dollar he’s got. 
There’s just one thing for you to do. Send the girl back 
where she come from. Then you get out. As for myself — 
I’m goin’ to emigrate. Ain’t got a dollar now, so I might 
as well hit for the prairies an’ get a job on a ranch. Next 
winter I guess me ’n the kid will trap up on the Parsnip 
River.” 

“You’re wrong — clean wrong,” said Aldous quietly. 
“When I saw your outfit going down among the rocks I 
had already made up my mind to help you. What you’ve 
told me to-night hasn’t made any difference. I would 
have helped you anyway, Stevens. I’ve got more mone’ 
than I know what to do with right now. Roper has a 
thirty-horse outfit for sale. Buy it to-morrow. I’ll pay 
for it, and you needn’t consider yourself a dollar in debt. 
Some day I’ll have you take me on a long trip, and that 
will make up for it. As for the girl and myself — ^we’re 
going on to T^te Jaune to-morrow.” 

Aldous could see the amazed packer staring at him in 


66 


THE HUNTED WOMAN 


the gloom. ‘‘You don’t think I’m sellin’ myself, do you, 
Aldous? ” he asked huskily. “That ain’t why you’re doin’ 
this — ^for me ’n the kid — ^is it?” 

“I had made up my mind to do it before I saw you 
to-night,” repeated Aldous. “I’ve got lots of money, and 
I don’t use but a little of it. It sometimes accumulates 
so fast that it bothers me. Besides, I’ve promised to 
accept payment for the outfit in trips. These mountains 
have got a hold on me, Stevens. I’m going to take a good 
many trips before I die.” 

“Not if you go on to T^te Jaune, you ain’t,” replied 
Stevens, biting a huge quid from a black plug. 

Aldous had risen to his feet. Stevens stood up beside 
him. 

“If you go on to Tete Jaune you’re a bigger tool than I 
was in tryin’ to swim the outfit across the river to-day,” 
he added. “Listen!” He leaned toward Aldous, his eyes 
gleaming. “In the last six months there’s been forty 
dead men dragged out of the Frazer between Tete Jaune 
an’ Fort George. You know that. The papers have 
called ’em accidents — the ‘toll of railroad building.’ 
Mebby a part of it is. Mebby a half of them forty died 
by accident. The other half didn’t. They were sent 
down by Culver Rann and Bill Quade. Once you go 
floatin’ down the Frazer there ain’t no questions asked. 
Somebody sees you an’ pulls you out — mebby a Breed or 
an Indian — an’ puts you under a little sand a bit later. 
If it’s a white man he does likewise. There ain’t no time 
to investigate floaters over-particular in the wilderness. 
Besides, you git so beat up in the rocks you don’t look 
like much of anything. I know» because I worked on the 


THE HUNTED WOMAN 


67 


scows three months, an’ helped bury four of ’em. An* 
there wasn’t anything, not even a scrap of paper, in the 
pockets of two of ’em! Is that suspicious, or ain’t it? It 
don’t pay to talk too much along the Frazer. Men keep 
their mouths shut. But I’ll tell you this: Culver Rann 
an’ Bill Quade know a lot.” 

“And you think I’ll go in the Frazer?” 

“Egzactly. Quade would rather have you in there 
than in the Athabasca. And then ” 

“WeU?” 

Stevens spat into the bush, and shrugged his shoulders. 
*"This beautiful lady you’ve taken an interest in will 
turn up missing, Aldous. She’ll disappear off the face of 
the map — ^just like Stimson’s wife did. You remember 
Stimson? ” 

“He was found in the Frazer,” said Aldous, gripping 
the other’s arm in the darkness. 

“Egzactly. An’ that pretty wife of his disappeared a 
little later. Up there everybody’s too busy to ask where 
other people go. Culver Rann an’ Bill Quade know what 
happened to Stimson, an’ they know what happened tc 
Stimson’s wife. You don’t want to go to T^te Jaune. 
You don’t want to let her go. I know what I’m talking 
about. Because ” 

There fell a moment’s silence. Aldous waited. Stevens 
spat again, and finished in a whisper: 

“Quade went to Tete Jaune to-night. He went on a 
hand-car. He’s got something he wants to tell Culver 
Rann that he don’t dare telephone or telegraph. An’ he 
wants to get that something to him ahead of to-morrow’s 
T Jndersta’?d 5 ” 


CHAPTER Vm 


J OHN ALDOUS confessed to himself that he did not 
quite imderstand, in spite of the effort Stevens 
had made to impress upon him, the importance of 
not going to TSte Jaune. He was bewildered over a 
number of things, and felt that he needed to be alone fo'^ 
a time to clear his mind. He left Stevens, promising to 
return later to share a couple of blankets and a part of 
his tepee, for he was determined to keep his promise te 
Joanne, and not return to his own cabin, even thougl: 
Quade had left Miette. He followed a moonlit trail alon^ 
the river to an abandoned surveyors* camp, knowing that 
he would meet no one, and that in this direction he would 
have plenty of imbroken quiet in which to get some sort 
of order out of the chaotic tangle of events through which 
he had passed that day. 

Aldous had employed a certain amount of caution, but 
until he had talked with Stevens he had not believed that 
Quade, in his twofold desire to avenge himself and possess 
Joanne, would go to the extraordinary ends predicted by 
the packer. His point of view was now entirely changed. 
He believed Stevens. He knew the man was not excitable. 
He was one of the coolest heads in the mountains. And 
he had abundant nerve. Thought of Stimson and Stim- 
son’s wife had sent the hot blood through Aldous like fire. 
Was Stevens right in that detail ? And was Quade actually 
68 


THE HUNTED WOMAN 


69 


planning the same end for him and Joanne? Why had 
Quade stolen on ahead to Tete Jaune? Why had he not 
waited for to-morrow’s train? 

He found himself walking swiftly along the road, where 
he had intended to walk slowly — a hundred questions 
pounding through his brain. Suddenly a thought came 
to him that stopped him in the trail, his imseeing eyes 
staring down into the dark chasm of the river. After all,^ 
was it so strange that Quade would do these things? Into 
his own life Joanne had come like a wonderful dream- 
creature transformed into flesh and blood. He no longer 
tried to evade the fact that he could not think without 
thinking of Joanne. She had become a part of him. Sh® 
had made him forget everything but her, and in a few 
hours had sent into the dust of ruin his cynicism and 
aloneness of a lifetime. If Joanne had come to him like 
this, making him forget his work, filling him more and 
more with the thrilling desire to fight for her, was it so 
very strange that a beast like Quade would fight — in 
another way? 

He went on down the trail, his hands clenched tightly. 
After all, it was not fear of Quade or of what he might 
attempt that filled him with uneasiness. It was Joanne 
herself, her strange quest, its final outcome. With the 
thought that she was seeking for the man who was her 
husband, a leaden hand seemed gripping at his heart. He 
tried to shake it off, but it was like a sickness. To believe 
that she had been the wife of another man or that she 
could ever belong to any other man than himself seemed 
like shutting his eyes forever to the sun. And yet she had 
told him. She had belonged to another man; she might 


70 THE HUNTED WOMAN 

belong to him even now. She had come to find if he wai 
alive — or dead. 

And if alive? Aldous stopped again, and looked down 
into the dark pit through which the river was rushing a 
himdred feet below him. It tore in frothing maelstroms 
through a thousand rocks, filling the night with a low 
thunder. To John Aldous the sound of it might have 
been a thousand miles away. He did not hear. His eye 
saw nothing in the blackness. For a few moments the 
question he had asked himself obliterated everything. If 
they found Joanne’s husband alive at TSte Jaune — ^what 
then? He turned back, retracing his steps over the trail, 
a feeling of resentment — of hatred for the man he had 
never seen — slowly taking the place of the oppressive thing 
that had turned his heart sick within him. Then, in q 
flash, came the memory of Joanne’s words — ^words in 
which, white-faced and trembling, she had confessed that 
her anxiety was not that she would find him dead, but 
that she would find him alive. A joyous thrill shot through 
him as he remembered that. Whoever this man was, 
whatever he might have been to her once, or was to her 
now, Joanne did not want to find him alive! He laughed 
softly to himself as he quickened his pace. The tensa 
grip of his fingers loosened. The grim, almost ghastly 
part of it did not occur to him — the fact that deep in hi® 
soul he was wishing a man dead and in his grave. 

He did not return at once to the scenes about Quade’^ 
place, but went to the station, three quarters of a mile 
farther up the track. Here, in a casual way, he learned 
from the little pink-faced Cockney Englishman who 
watched the office at night that Stevens had been correci 


THE HUNTED WOMAN 


T1 


in his information. Quade had gone to T4te Jaune. 
Although it was eleven o’clock, Aldous proceeded in the 
direction of the engineers’ camp, still another quarter of a 
mile deeper in the bush. He was restless. He did not feel 
that he could sleep that night. The engineers’ camp he 
expected to find in darkness, and he was surprised when 
he saw a light burning brightly in Keller’s cabin. 

Keller was the assistant divisional engineer, and they 
had become good friends. It was Keller who had set the 
first surveyor’s line at T^te Jaune, and it was he who had 
reported it as the strategic point from which to push 
forward the fight against mountain and wilderness, both 
by river and rail. He was, in a way, accountable for the 
existence of Tfete Jaune just where it did exist, and he 
knew more about it than any other man in the employ of 
the Grand Trunk Pacific. For this reason Aldous was 
glad that Keller had not gone to bed. He knocked at the 
door and entered without waiting for an invitation. 

The engineer stood in the middle of the floor, his coat 
off, his fat, stubby hands thrust into the pockets of his 
baggy trousers, his red face and bald cranium shining in 
the lamplight. A strange fury blazed in his eyes as he 
greeted his visitor. He began pacing back and forth across 
the room, puffing volumes of smoke from a huge bowled 
German pipe as he motioned Aldous to a chair. 

“What’s the matter, Peter?” 

“Enough — an’ be damned!” growled Peter. “If it 
wasn’t enough do you think I’d be out of bed at this hour 
of the night?” 

“I’m sure it’s enough,” agreed Aldous. “If it wasn’t 
you’d be in your little trimdle over there, sleeping like a 


72 


THE HUNTED WOMAN 


baby. I don’t know of any one who can sleep quite a* 
sweetly as you, Peter. But what the devil is the trouble? ^ 

“Something that you can’t make me feel funny over. 
You haven’t heard — about the bear?” 

“Not a word, Peter.” 

Keller took his hands from his pockets and the big. 
bowled pipe from his mouth. 

“ You know what I did with that bear,” he said. “ More 
than a year ago I made friends with her up there on the 
hill instead of killing her. Last summer I got her so she’d 
eat out of my hands. I fed her a barrel of sugar between 
July and November. We used to chum it an hour at a 
time, and I’d pet her like a dog. Why, damn it, man, 
I thought more of that bear than I did of any human in 
these regions! And she got so fond of me she didn’t 
leave to den up until January. This spring she came 
out with two cubs, an’ as soon as they could waddle she 
brought ’em out there on the hillside an’ waited for me. 
We were better chums than ever. I’ve got another half 
barrel of sugar — lump sugar — on the way from Edmonton. 
An’ DOW what do you think that danmed C. N. R. gang 
has done?” 

“They haven’t shot her?” 

“No, they haven’t shot her. I wish to God thcsy hadi 
They’ve bloim her up I ” 

The little engineer subsided into a chair. 

“Do you hear?” he demanded. “They’ve blown her 
up! Put a stick of dynamite under some sugar, attached 
a battery wire to it. an’ when she was licking up the sugar 
touched it oflf. An’ I can’t do anything, danm ’emi 
Bears ain’t protected. The government of this province 


THE HUNTED WOMAN 


73 


calls ^em * pests/ Murder ^em on sight, it says. An’ 
those fiends over there think it’s a good joke on me — ^an* 
the bear!” 

Keller was sweating. His fat hands were clenched, and 
his round, plump body fairly shook with excitement and 
anger. 

“When I went over to-night they laughed at me — the 
whole bunch,” he went on thickly. “I offered to lick 
every man in the outfit from A to Z, an’ I ain’t had a fight 
in twenty years. Instead of fighting hke men, a dozen of 
them grabbed hold of me, chucked me into a blanket, an’ 
bounced me for fifteen minutes straight! What do you 
think of thaty Aldous? Me — assistant divisional engineer 
of the G. T. P . — bounced in a blanket!*^ 

Peter Keller hopped from his chair and began pacing 
back and forth across the room again, sucking truculently 
^n his pipe. 

“If they were on our road I’d — ^I’d chase every man of 
them out of the country. But they’re not. They belong 
to the C. N. R. They’re out of my reach.” He stoppedp 
suddenly, in front of Aldous. “What can I do?” he 
demanded. 

“Nothing,” said Aldous. “You’ve had something like 
this coming to you, Peter. I’ve been expecting it. All 
the camps for twenty miles up and down the line know 
what you thought of that bear. You fired Tibbits 
because, as you said, he was too thick with Quade. You 
told him that right before Quade’s face. Tibbits is now 
foreman of that grading gang over there. Two and two 
make four, you know. Tibbits — Quade — the blown-up 
oear. Quade doesn’t miss an opportunity, no matter how 


THE HUNTED WOMAN 


ill it is. Tibbits and Quade did this to get even with 
^uu. You might report the blanket affair to the con- 
tractors of the other road. I don’t believe they would 
stand for it.” 

Aldous had guessed correctly what the effect of asso- 
ciating Quade’s name with the affair would be. Kellei" 
was one of Quade’s deadliest enemies. He sat down close 
to Aldous again. His eyes burned deep back. It was not 
Keller’s physique, but his brain, and the fearlessness of 
his spirit, that made him dangerous. 

“I guess you’re right, Aldous,” he said. ^‘Some day— 
I’ll even up on Quade.” 

“And so shall I, Peter.” 

The engineer stared into the other’s eyes. 

“You ” 

Aldous nodded. 

“ Quade left for T^te Jaune to-night, on a hand-car. I 
follow him to-morrow, on the train. I can’t tell you 
what’s up, Peter, but I don’t think it will stop this side 
of death for Quade and Culver Rann — or me. I mean 
that quite literally. I don’t see how more than one side 
can come out alive. I want to ask you a few questions 
before I go on to Tete Jaune. You know every mountain 
and trail about the place, don’t you?” 

“I’ve tramped them all, afoot and horseback.” 

“Then perhaps you can direct me to what I must find — 
a man’s grave.” 

Peter Keller paused in the act of relighting his pipe. 
For a moment he stared in amazement. 

“There are a great many graves up at T^te Jaune,” he 
said, at last. “A great many graves — and many of them 


THE HUNTED WOMAN 75 

onmarked. If it’s a Quade grave you’re looking for, 
Aldous, it will be unmarked.” 

“ I am quite sure that it is marked — or was at one time,” 
said Aldous. ^‘It’s the grave of a man who had quite an 
unusual name, Peter, and you might remember it — 
Mortimer FitzHugh.” 

‘‘FitzHugh — ^FitzHugh,” repeated Keller, puffing out 
fresh volumes of smoke. ‘‘Mortimer FitzHugh ” 

“He died, I believe, before there was a Tete Jaune, or 
at least before the steel reached there,” added Aldous. 
“He was on a hunting trip, and I have reason to think 
that his death was a violent pne.” 

Keller rose and fell into his old habit of pacing back and 
forth across the room, a habit that had worn a path in the 
bare pine boards of the floor. 

“There’s graves an’ graves up there, but not so many 
that were there before T^te Jaune came,” he began, 
between puffs. “Up on the side of White Knob Moun- 
tain there’s the grave of a man who was torn to bits by a 
grizzly. But his name was Humphrey. Old Yellowhead 
John — T^te Jaune, they called him — died years before 
that, and no one knows where his grave is. We had five 
men die before the steel came, but there wasn’t a FitzHugh 
among ’em. Crabby — old Crabby Tompkins, a trapper, 
is buried in the sand on the Frazer. The last flood swept 
his slab away. There’s two unmarked graves in Glacier 
Canyon, but I guess they’re ten years old if a day. Bums 
was shot. I knew him. Plenty died after the steel came, 
but before that ” 

Suddenly he stopped. He faced Aldous. His breath 
came in quick jerks. 


76 


THE HUNTED WOMAN 


“By Heaven, I do remember!” he cried. “There’s a 
mountain in the Saw Tooth Range, twelve miles from 
TSte Jaune — a mountain with the prettiest basin you ever 
saw at the foot of it, with a lake no bigger than this camp, 
and an old cabin which Yellowhead himself must have 
built fifty years ago. There’s a blind canyon runs out of 
it, short an’ dark, on the right. We found a grave there. 
I don’t remember the first name on the slab. Mebby it 
was washed out. But, so ’elp me God, the last name was 
FitzHughl*^ 

With a sudden cry, Aldous jumped to his feet and caught 
Keller’s arm. 

“You’re sure of it, Peter?” 

“Positive!” 

It was impossible for Aldous to repress his excitement. 
The engineer stared at him even harder than before. 

“What can that grave have to do with Quade?” he 
asked. “The man died before Quade was known in these 
regions.” 

“I can’t tell you now, Peter,” replied Aldous, pulling 
the engineer to the table. “But I think you’ll know quite 
soon. For the present, I want you to sketch out a map 
that will take me to the grave. Will you?” 

On the table were pencil and paper. Keller seated him- 
self and drew them toward him. 

“I’m damned if I can see what that grave can have to 
do "^with Quade,” he said; “but I’ll tell you how to find 
itl” 

For several minutes they bent low over the table, Peter 
Keller describing the trail to the Saw Tooth Mountain as he 
sketched it, step by step, on a sheet of oflSce paper. When 


THE HUNTED WOMAN 77 

it was done, Aldous folded it carefully and placed it in his 
wallet. 

“I can’t go wrong, and — ^thank you, Keller!” 

After Aldous had gone, Peter Keller sat for some time 
in deep thought. 

“Now I wonder what the devil there can be about a 
grave to make him so happy,” he grumbled, listening to 
the whistle that was growing fainter down the trail. 

And Aldous, alone, with the moon straight above him 
as he went back to the Miette Plain, felt, in truth, this 
night had become brighter for him than any day he had 
ever known. For he knew that Peter Keller was not a 
man to make a statement of which he was not sure. 
Mortimer FitzHugh was dead. His bones lay xmder the 
slab up in that little blind canyon in the shadow of the 
Saw Tooth Mountain. To-morrow he would tell Joanne. 
And, blindly, he told himself that she would be glad. 

Still whistling, he passed the Chinese laundry shack on 
the creek, crossed the railroad tracks, and buried himself 
in the bush beyond. A quarter of an hour later he stole 
quietly into Stevens’ camp and went to bed. 


CHAPTER IX 


S tevens, dreaming of twenty horses plunging to 
death among the rocks in the river, slept uneasily. 
He awoke before it was dawn, but when he dragged 
himself from his tepee, moving quietly not to awaken his 
boy, he found John Aldous on his knees before a small fire, 
slicing thin rashers of bacon into a frying-pan. The 
weight of his loss was in the tired packer’s eyes and face 
and the listless droop of his shoulders. John Aldous, with 
three hours between the blankets to his credit, was as 
cheery as the crackling fire itself. He had wanted to whistlr 
for the last half-hour. Seeing Stevens, he began now. 

wasn’t going to rouse you imtil breakfast was ready,” 
he interrupted himself to say. heard you groaning, 
Stevens. I know you had a bad night. And the kid, too. 
He couldn’t sleep. But I made up my mind you’d have 
to get up early. I’ve got a lot of business on to-day, and 
we’ll have to rouse Curly Roper out of bed to buy his pack 
outfit. Find the coffee, will you? I couldn’t.” 

For a moment Stevens stood over him. 

*‘See here, Aldous, you didn’t mean what you said last 
night, did you? You didn’t mean — ^that?” 

‘^Confoimd it, yes! Can’t you understand plain Eng- 
lish, Stevens? Don’t you believe a man when he’s a 
gentleman? Buy that outfit! Why, I’d buy twenty out^ 
fits to-day, I’m — ^I’m feeling so fine, Stevens!” 

78 


THE HUNTED WOMAN 


79 


For the first time in forty-eight hours Stevens smiled. 

‘‘I was wondering if I hadn’t been dreaming,” he said, 
^‘Once, a long time ago, I guess I felt just like you do 
now.” 

With which cryptic remark he went for the coffee. 

Aldous looked up in time to see the boy stagger sleepily 
out of the tepee. There was something pathetic about 
the motherlessness of the picture, and he understood a 
little of what Stevens had meant. 

An hour later, with breakfast over, they started for 
Curly’s. Curly was pulling on his boots when they ar- 
rived, while his wife was frying the inevitable bacon in the 
kitchen. 

“ I hearyou have some horses for sale,Curly,”said Aldous. 

‘‘Hi ’ave.” 

“How many?” 

“Twenty-nine, ’r twenty-eight — ^mebby twenty-seven.” 

“How much?” 

Curly looked up from the task of pulling on his second 
boot. 

“H’are you buying ’orses or looking for hinformation?” 
he asked. 

“I’m buying, and I’m in a hurry. How much do you 
want a head?” 

“Sixty, ’r six ” 

“I’ll give you sixty dollars apiece for twenty-eight head, 
and that’s just ten dollars apiece more than they’re worth,” 
broke in Aldous, pulling a check-book and a fountain pen 
from his pocket. “Is it a go?” 

A little stupefied by the suddenness of it all. Curly 
opened his mouth and stared. 


80 


THE HUNTED WOMAN 


‘‘Is it a go?” repeated Aldous. “Including blankets^ 
saddles, pack-saddles, ropes, and canvases?” 

Curly nodded, looking from Aldous to Stevens to see 
if he could detect anything that looked like a joke. 

“Hit's a go,” he said. 

Aldous handed him a check for sixteen hundred and 
eighty dollars. 

“Make out the bill of sale to Stevens,” he said. “I’m 
paying for them, but they’re Stevens’ horses. And, look 
here. Curly, I’m buying them only with your agreement 
that you’ll say nothing about who paid for them. Will 
you agree to that?” 

Curly was joyously looking at the check. 

“ Gyve me a Bible,” he demanded. “ Hi’ll swear Stevens 
p’id for them! I give you the word of a Hinglish gentle- 
man!” 

Without another word Aldous opened the cabin door 
and was gone, leaving Stevens quite as much amazed as 
the little Englishman whom everybody called Curly, be- 
«;ause he had no hair. 

Aldous went at once to the station, and for the first 
time inquired into the condition that was holding back 
the Tete Jaune train. He found that a slide had given 
way, burying a section of track under gravel and rock. A 
hundred men were at work clearing it away, and it was 
probable they would finish by noon. A gang boss, who 
had come back with telegraphic reports, said that half a 
dozen men had carried Quade’s hand-car over the ob- 
struction about midnight. 

It was seven o’clock when Aldous left for the Miette 
bottom. He believed that Joanne would be up. At this 


THE HUNTED WOMAN 


81 


season of the year the first glow of day usually found the 
Ottos at breakfast, and for half an hour the sun had been 
shining on the top of Pyramid Mountain. He was eager 
to tell her what had passed between him and Keller. He 
laughed softly when he confessed to himself how madly 
he wanted to see her. 

He always liked to come up to the Otto home very 
early of a morning, or in the dusk of evening. Very fre- 
quently he was filled with a desire to stand outside the 
red-and-white striped walls of the tent-house and listen 
unseen. Inside there was always cheer: at night the 
crackle of fire and the glow of light, the happy laughter of 
the gentle-hearted Scotchwoman, and the affectionate 
banter of her “big mountain man,” who looked more like 
a brigand than the luckiest and most contented husband 
in the mountains — the luckiest, quite surely, with the one 
exception of his brother Clossen, who had, by some occult 
strategy or other, induced a sweet-faced and aristocratic 
little woman to look upon his own honest physiognomy 
as the handsomest and finest in the world. This morning 
Aldous followed a narrow path that brought him behind the 
tent-house. He heard no voices. A few steps more and 
he emerged upon a scene that stopped him and set his 
heart thumping. 

Less than a dozen paces away stood Mrs. Otto and 
Joanne, their backs toward him. They were gazing 
silently and anxiously in the direction of the thick, low 
bush across the clearing, through which led the trail to his 
cabin. He did not look toward the bush. His eyes were 
upon Joanne. Her slender figure was full in the golden 
radiance of the morning sun, and Aldous felt himself under 


THE HUNTED WOMAN 


the spell of a joyous wonder as he looked at her. For the 
first time he saw her hair as he had pictured it — as he had 
given it to that other Joanne in the book he had called 
‘‘Fair Play.” She had been brushing it in the sun when 
he came, but now she stood poised in that tense and wait- 
ing attitude — silent — gazing in the direction of the bush, 
with that marvellous mantle sweeping about her in a 
shimmering silken flood. He would not have moved, noi 
would he have spoken, until Joanne herself broke the 
spell. She turned, and saw him. With a little cry of 
surprise she flung back her hair. He could not fail to 
see the swift look of relief and gladness that had come 
into her eyes. In another instant her face was flushing 
crimson. 

'“I beg your pardon for coming up like an eavesdropper,” 
he apologized. “I thought you would just about be at 
breakfast, Mra Otto.*" 

The Scotchwoman heaved a tremendous sigh of relief. 

“Goodness gracious, but I’m glad to see you!” she 
exclaimed thankfully. “Jack and Bruce have just gone 
out to see if they could find yom dead body!” 

“We thought perhaps something might have happened,” 
said Joanne, who had moved nearer the door. “You will 
excuse me, won’t you, while I finish my hair?” 

Without waiting for him to answer, she ran into the 
tent. No sooner had she disappeared than the good- 
natured smile left Mrs. Otto’s face. There was a note of 
alarm in her low voice as she whispered: 

“Jack and Bruce went to the barn last night, and she 
slept with me. She tried to be quiet, but I know she 
didn’t sleep much. And she cried. I couldn’t hear her* 


THE HUNTED WOMAN 


83 


but the pillow was wet. Once my hand touched her 
cheek, and it was wet. I didn’t ask any questions. This 
morning, at breakfast, she told us everything that hap- 
pened, all about Quade — and yom trouble. She told us 
about Quade looking in at the window, and she was so 
nervous thinking something might have happened to you 
last night that the poor dear couldn’t even drink her 
coflFee until Jack and Bruce went out to hunt for you. 
But I don’t think that was why she cried!” 

“I wish it had been,” said Aldous. “It makes me 
happy to think she was worried about — ^me.” 

“Good Lord!” gasped Mrs. Otto. 

He looked for a moment into the slow-growing amaze- 
ment and understanding in her kind eyes. 

“You will keep my little secret, won’t you, Mrs. Otto.^” 
he asked. “Probably you’ll think it’s queer. I’ve only 
known her a day. But I feel — ^like that. Somehow I feel 
that in telling this to you I am confiding in a mother, or 
a sister. I want you to imderstand why I’m going on to 
TSte Jaune with her. That is why she was crying — 
because of the dread of something up there. I’m going 
with her. She shouldn’t go alone.” 

Voices interrupted them, and they turned to find that 
Jack and Bruce Otto had come out of the bush and were 
quite near. Aldous was sorry that Joanne had spoken of 
his trouble with Quade. He did not want to discuss the 
situation, or waste time in listening to further advice. 
He was anxious to be alone again with Joanne, and tell 
her what he had learned from Peter Keller. For haK an 
hour he repressed his uneasiness. The brothers then went 
on to their corral. A few minutes later Joanne was once 


84 


THE HUNTED WOMAN 


more at his side, and they were walking slowly over the 
trail that led to the cabin on the river. 

He could see that the night had made a change in her. 
There were circles under her eyes which were not there 
yesterday. When she looked at him their velvety blue 
depths betrayed something which he knew she was strug- 
gling desperately to keep from him. It was not altogether 
fear. It was more a betrayal of pain — a torment of the 
soul and not of the body. He noticed that in spite of the 
vivid colouring of her lips her face was strangely pale. 
The beautiful flush that had come into it when she first 
saw him was gone. 

Then he began to tell her of his visit to Peter Keller. 
His own heart was beating violently when he came to 
speak of the grave and the slab over it that bore the 
name of FitzHugh. He had expected that what he had 
discovered from Keller would create some sort of a sensa-^ 
tion. He had even come up to the final fact gradually, so 
that it would not appear bald and shocking. Joanne’s 
attitude stunned him. She looked straight ahead. When 
she turned to him he did not see in her eyes what he had 
expected to see. They were quiet, emotionless, except for 
that shadow of inward torture which did not leave them. 

‘‘Then to-morrow we can go to the grave.^” she asked 
simply. 

Her voice, too, was quiet and without emotion. 

He nodded. “We can leave at sunrise,” he said. “I 
have my own horses at Tete Jaune and there need be no 
delay. We were to start into the North from there.” 

“You mean on the adventure you were telling me 
about?” 


THE HUNTED WOMAN 


85 


She had looked at him quickly. 

'‘Yes. Old Donald, my partner, has been waiting for 
me a week. That’s why I was so deuced anxious to rush 
the book to an end. I’m behind Donald’s schedule, and 
he’s growing nervous. It’s rather an unusual enterprise 
that’s taking us north this time, and Donald can’t under- 
stand why I should hang back to write the tail end of a 
book. He has lived sixty years in the mountains. His 
full name is Donald MacDonald. Sometimes, back in my 
own mind, I’ve called him Histoiy. He seems like that — 
as though he’d lived for ages in these mountains instead 
of sixty years. If I could only write what he has lived — • 
even what one might imagine that he has lived! But I 
cannot. I have tried three times, and have failed. I 
think of him as The Last Spirit — a strange wandering 
ghost of the mighty ranges. His kind passed away a 
hundred years ago. You will understand — ^when you see 
him.” 

She put her hand on his arm and let it rest there lightly 
as they walked. Into her eyes had returned some of the 
old warm glow of yesterday. 

want you to tell me about this adventure,” she 
entreated softly. “I understand — about the other. You 
have been good — oh! so good to me! And I should tell 
you things; you are expecting me to explain. It is only 
fair and honest that I should. I know what is in your 
mind, and I only want you to wait — ^until to-morrow. 
Will you? And I will tell you then, when we have found 
the grave.” 

Involuntarily his hand sought Joanne’s. For a single 
moment he felt the warm, sweet thrill of it in his own as hq 


86 


THE HUNTED WOMAN 


pressed it more closely to his arm. Then he freed it, look^ 
ing straight ahead. A soft flush grew in Joanne’s cheeks. 

"‘Do you care a great deal for riches? ” he asked. “Does 
the golden pot at the end of the rainbow hold out a lure 
for you?” He did not realize the strangeness of his ques- 
tion until their eyes met. “Because if you don’t,” he addeck 
smiling, “this adventure of ours isn’t going to look very ex- 
citing to you.” 

She laughed softly. 

“No, I don’t care for riches,” she replied. amtpiito 
sure that just as great education proves to one how little 
one knows, so great wealth brings one face to face with 
the truth of how little one can enjoy. My father used to 
say that the golden treasure at the end of the rainbow in 
every human life was happiness, and that is something 
which you cannot buy. So why crave riches, then? But 
please don’t let my foolish ideas disappoint you. I’ll 
promise to be properly excited.” 

She saw his face suddenly aflame with enthusiasm. 

“By George, but you’re a — a brick, Joanne!” he ex* 

claimed. “You are! And I — I ” He was fumbling in 

his breast pocket. He brought out his wallet and extracted 
from it the bit of paper Stevens had given him. “You 
dropped that, and Stevens found it,” he explained, giving it 
to her. “I thought those figures might represent your 
fortune — or your income. Don’t mind telling you I went 
over ’em carefully. There’s a mistake in the third column. 
Five and four don’t make seven. They make nine. In 
the final, when you come to the multiplication part of it, 
that correction will make you just thirty-two thousand five 
hundred dollars richer.” 


THE HUNTED WOMAN 


87 


“Thanks,” said Joanne, lowering her eyes, and begin- 
ning to tear the paper into small pieces. “And will it 
disappoint you^ Mr. John Aldous, if T tell you that all 
these figures stand for riches which some one else possesses? 
And won’t you let me remind you that we’re getting a long 
way from what I want to know — about your trip into the 
North?” 

“ That’s just it : we’re hot on the trail,” chuckled Aldous, 
deliberately placing her hand on his arm again. “You 
don’t care for riches. Neither do I. I’m delighted to 
know we’re going tandem in that respect. I’ve never had 
any fun with money. It’s the money that’s had fun with 
me. I’ve no use for yachts and diamonds and I’d rather 
travel afoot with a gun over my shoulder than in a private 
car. Half the time I’m doing my own cooking, and I 
haven’t worn a white shirt in a year. My publishers 
persist in shoving more money my way than I know 
what to do with. 

“You see, I pay only ten cents a plug for my smoking 
tobacco, and other things accordingly. Somebody has 
said something about the good Lord sitting up in Heaven 
and laughing at the jokes He plays on men. Well, I’m 
sitting back and laughing now and then at the tussle 
between men and money over all creation. There’s a 
whole lot of humour in the way men and women fight and 
die for money, if you only take time to stand out on the 
side and look on. There’s nothing big or dramatic about 
it. I may be a heathen, but to my mind the funniest of 
all things is to see the world wringing its neck for a dollar. 
And Donald — old History — ^needs even less money than L 
So that puts the big element of humour in this expedition 


88 


THE HUNTED WOMAN 


of ours. We don’t want money, particularly. Donald 
wouldn’t wear more than four pairs of boots a year if he 

was a billionaire. And yet ” 

He turned to Joanne. The pressure of her hand was 
warmer on his arm. Her beautiful eyes were glowing, and 
her red lips parted as she waited breathlessly for him to 
go on. 

“And yet, we're going to a place where you can scoop 
gold up with a shovel,” he finished. “That’s the funny 
part of it.” 

“It isn’t funny — it’s tremendous!” gasped Joanne. 
“Think of what a man like you could do with unlimited 
wealth, the good you might achieve, the splendid endow- 
ments you might make ” 

“I have already made several endowments,” interrupted 
Aldous. “I believe that I have made a great many peo- 
ple happy, Ladygray — a great many. I am gifted to make 
endowments, I think, above most people. Not one of the 
endowments I have made has failed of complete success; ” 
“And may I ask what some of them were?’' 

“I can’t remember them all. There have been a great, 
great many. Most conspicuous among them were three 
endowments which I made to some very worthy people 
at various times for seven salted mines. I suppose you 
know what a salted mine is, Ladygray? At other times 
I have endowed railroad stocks which were very much in 
need of my helping mite, two copper companies, a concern 
that was supposed to hoist up pure asbestos from the 
stomach of Popocatapetl, and a steamship company that 
never steamed. As I said before, they were all very suc- 
cessful endowments.” 


THE HUNTED WOMAN 


89 


•*And how many of the other kind have you made?’' 
she asked gently, looking down the trail. “like — 
Stevens’, for instance?” 

He turned to her sharply. 

“What the deuce ” 

“Did you succeed in getting the new outfit from Mr. 
Curly?” she asked. 

“Yes. How did you know?” 

She smiled at the amazement which had gathered in his 
face. A glad, soft light shone in her eyes. 

“I guess Mrs. Otto has been like a mother to that poor 
little boy,” she explained. “When you and Mr. Stevens 
went up to buy the outfit this morning Jimmy ran oveji» 
to tell her the news. We were all there — at breakfast. 
He was so excited he could scarcely breathe. But it all 
rame out, and he ran back to camp before you came 
because he thought you wouldn’t want me to know. 
Wasn’t that funny? He told me so when I walked a little 
way up the path with him.” 

“The little reprobate!” chuckled Aldous. “He’s the 
best publicity man I ever had, Ladygray. I did want you 
to know about this, and I wanted it to come to you in just 
this way, so that I wouldn’t be compelled to tell you 
myself of the big and noble act I have done. It was my 
hope and desire that you, through some one else, would 
learn of it, and come to understand more fully what a 
generous and splendid biped I am. I even plotted to give 
this child of Stevens’ a silver dollar if he would get the 
news to you in some one of his innocent wayisr. He’s done 
it. And he couldn’t have done it better — even for a 
dollar. Ah, here we are at the cabin. Will you excuse 


90 


THE HUNTED WOMAN 


Tjie while I pick up a few things that I want to take on to 
Tdte Jaune with me?” 

Between two trees close to the cabin he had built a seat, 
and here he left Joanne. He was gone scarcely five 
minutes when he reappeared with a small pack-sack over 
his shoulders, locked the door, and rejoined her. 

‘‘You see it isn’t much of a task for me to move,” he 
said, as they turned back in the direction of the Ottos’. 
“I’ll wash the dishes when I come back next October.” 

“Five months!” gasped Joanne, counting on her fingers. 
“John Aldous, do you mean ” 

“I do,” he nodded emphatically. “I frequently leave 
dishes unwashed for quite a spell at a time. That’s the 
one unpleasant thing about this sort of life — ^washing 
dishes. It’s not so bad in the rainy season, but it’s fierce 
during a dry spell. When it rains I put the dishes out on 
a flat rock, dirty side up, and the good Lord does the 
scrubbing.” 

He looked at Joanne, face and eyes aglow with the 
happiness that was sweeping in a mighty tumult within 
him. Half an hour had worked a transformation in 
Joanne. There was no longer a trace of anguish or of fear 
in her eyes. Their purity and limpid beauty made him 
think of the rock violets that grew high up on the moun- 
tains. Her lips and cheeks were flushed, and the soft pres- 
Bure of her hand again resting on his arm filled him with 
the exquisite thrill of possession and joy. He did not speak 
of TSte Jaune again imtil they reached the Otto tent-house, 
and then only to assure her that he would call for her half 
an hour before the train was ready to leave. 

As soon as possible after that he went to the telegraph 


THE HUNTED WOMAN 


91 


oflSce and sent a long message to MacDonald. Among 
other things he told him to prepare their cabin for a lady 
guest. He knew this would shock the old mountain 
wanderer, but he also knew that Donald would follow his 
instructions in spite of whatever alarm he might have. 
There were other women at Tete Jaune, the wives of men 
he knew, to whom he might have taken Joanne. Under 
the conditions, however, he believed his own cabin would 
be her best refuge, at least for a day or so. In that time 
he could take some one into his confidence, probably 
Blackton and his wife. In fact, as he thought the cir- 
cumstances over, he saw the necessity of confiding in the 
Blacktons that very night. 

He left the station, growing a bit nervous. Was it right 
for him to take Joanne to his cabin at all? He had a 
tremendous desire to do so, chiefly on account of Quade. 
The cabin was a quarter of a mile in the bush, and he was 
positive if Joanne was there that Quade, and perhaps 
Culver Rann, would come nosing about. This would give 
him the opportunity of putting into execution a plan 
which he had already arranged for himself and old Mac- 
Donald. On the other hand, was this arrangement fair 
to Joanne, even though it gave him the chance to square 
up accoimts with Quade? 

He stopped abruptly, and faced the station. All at once 
there swept upon him a realization of how blind he had 
been, and what a fool he had almost made of himself. 
Blackton was one of the contractors who were working 
miracles in the moimtains. He was a friend who would 
fight for him if necessary. Mrs. Blackton, who preferred 
to be on the firing line with her husband than in her 


THE HUNTED WOMAN 


1^2 

luxurious city home, was the leader of all that was decent 
and womanly in Tete Jaune. Why not have these friends 
meet them at the train and take Joanne direct to their 
house? Such recognition and friendship would mean 
everything to Joanne. To take her to his cabin would 
mean 

Inwardly he swore at himself as he hurried back to the 
station, and his face burned hotly as he thought of the 
chance such a blunder on his part would have given Quade 
and Culver Rann to circulate the stories with which they 
largely played their scoundrelly game. He sent another 
and longer telegram. This time it was to Blackton. 

He ate dinner with Stevens, who had his new outfit 
ready for the mountains. It was two o’clock before he 
brought Joanne up to the station. She was dressed now 
as he had first seen her when she entered Quade’s place. 
A veil covered her face. Through the gray film of it he 
caught the soft warm glow of her eyes and the shimmer 
of gold-brown tendrils of her hair. And he knew why she 
wore that veil. It set his heart beating swiftly — the fact 
that she was trying to hide from all eyes but his own a 
beauty so pure and wonderful that it made her imcom- 
fortable when under the staring gaze of the Horde. 

The hand that rested on his arm he pressed closer to his 
side as they walked up the station platform, and under 
his breath he laughed softly and joyously as he felt the 
thrill of it. He spoke no word. Not xmtil they were in 
their seat in the coach did Joanne look at him after that 
pressure of her hand, and then she did not speak. But in 
the veiled glow of her eyes there was something that told 
him she understood — ^a light that was wonderfully gentle 


THE HITNTED WOMAN 


93 


aad sweet. And yet, without words, she asked him to 
keep within his soul the things that were pounding madly 
there for speech. 

As the train rolled on and the babble of voices about 
them joined the crunching rumble of the wheels, he wanted 
to lean close to her and tell her how a few hours had 
changed the world for him. And then, for a moment, her 
eyes turned to him again, and he knew that it would be a 
sacrilege to give voice to the things he wanted to say. 
For many minutes he was silent, gazing with her upon 
the wild panorama of mountain beauty as it drifted past 
the car window. A loud voice two seats ahead of them 
proclaimed that they were about to make Templeton^s 
Curve. The man was talking to his companion. 

‘‘They shot up a hundred thousand pounds of black 
powder an’ dynamite to make way for two hundred feet 
of steel on that cmve,” he explained in a voice heard all 
over the car. “They say you could hear the explosion 
fifty miles away. Jack Templeton was near-sighted, an’ 
didn’t see a rock coming down on him that was half as 
big as a house. I helped scrape up what was left of ’im 
an’ we planted him at this end of the curve. It’s been 
Templeton’s Curve ever since. You’ll see his grave — ^with 
a slab over it!” 

It was there almost as he spoke, marked by a white- 
painted cross in a circle of whitewashed stones. John 
Aldous felt a sudden shiver pass through his companion. 
She turned from the window. Through her veil he saw 
her lips tighten. Until he left the car half an hour later 
the man in the second seat ahead talked of Templeton’s 
grave and a dozen other graves along the right of way- 


94 


THE HUNTED WOMAN 


He was a rock-hog, and a specialist on the subject of 
graves. Inwardly Aldous cursed him roundly. He cursed 
him all the way to Tete Jaune, for to him he attributed 
the change which had again come over Joanne. 

This change she could only partly conceal from him 
under her veil. She asked him many questions about 
T^te Jaune and the Blacktons, and tried to take an interest 
in the scenery they were passing. In spite of this he 
could see that she was becoming more and more nervous 
as they progressed toward the end of their joiuney. He 
felt the slow dampening of his own joy, the deadening 
clutch of yesterday at his heart. Twice she lifted her veil 
for a moment and he saw she was pale and the tense 
lines had gathered about her mouth again. There was 
something almost haggard In her look the second 
time. 

In the early dusk of evening they arrived at Tete Jaune. 
Aldous waited until the car had emptied itself before he 
rose from his seat. Joanne’s hand clutched at his arm 
as they walked down the aisle. He felt the fierce pressure 
of her fingers in his flesh. On the car platform they 
paused for a moment, and he felt her throbbing beside 
him. She had taken her hand from his arm, and he turned 
suddenly. She had raised her veil. Her face was dead 
white. And she was staring out over the sea of faces 
under them in a strange questing way, and her breath 
came from between her slightly parted lips as if she had 
been running. Amazed for the moment, John Aldous did 
not move. Somewhere in that crowd Joanne expected to 
find a face she knew I The truth struck him dumb — made 
him inert and lifeless. He, too, stared as if in a trance. 


THE HUNTED WOMAN 95 

And then, suddenly, every drop of blood in his body blazed 
into fierce life. 

In the glow of one of the station lamps stood a group of 
men. The faces of all were turned toward them. One he 
recognized — a bloated, leering face grinning devilishly at 
them. ItwasQuade! 

A low, frightened cry broke from Joanne’s lips, and he 
knew that she, too, had seen him. But it was not Quade 
that she had looked for. It was not his face that she had 
expected to see nor because of him that she had lifted her 
veil for the mob! 

He stepped down from the car and gave her his hand. 
Her fingers clutched his convulsively. And they were col^ 
as the fingers of the dead. 


CHAFl'ER X 


A MOMENT later some one came surging through 
the crowd, and called Aldous by name. It was 
Blackton. His thin, genial face with its little 
spiked moustache rose above the sea of heads about him, 
and as he came he grinned a welcome. 

‘‘A beastly mob!’’ he exclaimed, as he gripped his 
friend’s hand. ‘‘I’m sorry I couldn’t bring my wife 
nearer than the back platform.” 

Aldous turned to Joanne. He was still half in a daze. 
His heart was choking him with its swift and excited 
beating. Even as he introduced her to Blackton the voice 
kept crying in his brain that she had expected to find some 
one in this crowd whom she knew. For a space it was as 
if the Joanne whom he had known had slipped away from 
him. XShe had told him about the grave, but this othef 
^he had kept from him. Something that was almost anger 
jurged up in him. His face bore marks of the strain as h^ 
watched her greet Blackton. In an instant, it seemed to 
him, she had regained a part of her composure. Blackton 
saw nothing but the haggard lines about her eyes and the 
deep pallor in her face, which he ascribed to fatigue. 

“You’re tired. Miss Gray,” he said. “It’s a killing ride 
up from Miette these days. If we can get through this 
mob we’ll have supper within fifteen minutes!” 

With a word to Aldous he began worming his long, lean 


THE HUNTED WOMAN 


97 


body ahead of them. An instant Joanne’s face was very 
close to Aldous’, so close that he felt her breath, and a 
tendril of her hair touched his lips. In that instant her 
eyes looked into his steadily, and he felt rush over him a 
sudden shame. If she was seeking and expecting, it was 
to him more than ever that she was now looking for pro- 
tection. The haunting trouble in her eyes, their entreaty, 
their shining faith in him told him that, and he was glad 
that she had not seen his sudden fear and suspicion. She 
clung more closely to him as they followed Blackton. Her 
little fingers held his arm as if she were afraid some force 
might tear him from her. He saw that she was looking 
quickly at the faces about them with that same questing 
mystery in her search. 

At the thin outer edge of the crowd Blackton dropped 
back beside them. A few steps more and they came to 
the end of the platform, where a buckboard was waiting 
in the dim light of one of the station lamps. Blackton 
introduced Joanne, and assisted her into the seat beside 
his wife. 

We’ll leave you ladies to become acquainted while we 
rustle the baggage,” he said. ‘‘Got the checks, Aldous?’' 

Joanne had given Aldous two checks on the train, and 
he handed them to Blackton. Together they made their 
way to the baggage-room. 

“Thought Miss Gray would have some luggage, so I 
had one of my men come with another team,” he explained. 
‘We won’t have to wait. I’ll give him the checks.” 

Before they returned to the buckboard, Aldous halted 
his friend. 

“I couldn’t say much in that telegram,” he said. “If 


98 


THE HUNTED WOMAN 


Miss Gray wasn’t a bit tired and unstrung I’d let her 
explain. I want you to tell Mrs. Blackton that she has 
come to Tete Jaune on a rather unpleasant mission, old 
man. Nothing less than to attend to the grave of a — a 
near relative.” 

“ I regret that — I regret it very much,” replied Blackton^, 
flinging away the match he had lighted without touching 
it to his cigar. ‘‘I guessed something was wrong. She’s 
welcome at our place, Aldous — ^for as long as she remains 
in Tete Jaime. Perhaps I knew this relative. If I can 
assist you — or her ” 

“He died before the steel came,” said Aldous. “Fitzv 
Hugh was his name. Old Donald and I are going to take 
her to the grave. Miss Gray is an old friend of mine,” he 
lied boldly. “We want to start at dawn. Will that be 
too much trouble for you and your wife?” 

“No trouble at all,” declared Blackton. “We’ve got a 
Chinese cook who’s more like an owl than a human. How 
will a four o’clock breakfast suit you? ” 

“Splendidly!” 

As they went on, the contractor said: 

“I carried your word to MacDonald. Hunted him 
down out in the bush. He is very anxious to see you. 
He said he would not be at the depot, but that you must 
not fail him. He’s kept strangely under cover of late. 
Cimious old ghost, isn’t he?” 

“The strangest man in the mountains,” said Aldous 
**And, when you come to know him, the most lovable, 
We’re going North together.” 

This time it was Blackton who stopped, with a hand oh 
his companion’s arm. A short distance from them they 


THE HUNTED WOMAN 99 

eould see the buckboard in the light of the station 
lamp. 

‘'^Has old Donald written you lately?” he asked. 

‘‘No. He says he hasn’t written a letter in twenty 
years.” 

Blackton hesitated. 

“Then you haven’t heard of his — accident?” 

The strange look in the contractor’s face as he lighted 
a cigar made John Aldous catch him sharply by the arm. 

“What do you mean?” 

“He was shot. I happened to be in Dr. Brady’s office 
when he dragged himself in, late at night. Doc got the 
bullet out of his shoulder. It wasn’t a bad wound. The 
old man swore it was an accident, and asked us to say 
nothing about it. We haven’t. But I’ve been wondering. 
Old Donald said he was careless with his own pistol. But 
the fact is, Aldous — he was shot from behind T* 

“The deuce you say!” 

“There was no perforation except from behind. In 
some way the bullet had spent itself before it reached him. 
Otherwise it would have killed him.” 

For a moment Aldous stared in speechless amazement 
into Blackton’s face. 

“When did this happen?” he asked then. 

“Three days ago. Since then I have not seen old 
Donald until to-night. Almost by accident I met him out 
there in the timber. I delivered the telegram you sent 
him. After he had read it I showed him mine. He 
scribbled something on a bit of paper, folded it, and pinned 
it with a porcupine quill. I’ve been mighty curious, but 1 
haven’t pulled out that quill. Here it is.” 


100 THE HUNTED WOMAN 

’from his pocket he produced the note and gave it to 
Aldous. 

‘‘I’ll read it a little later,” said Aldous. ‘"'The ladies 
may possibly become anxious about us.” 

He dropped it in his pocket as he thanked Blackton for 
the trouble he had taken in finding MacDonald. As he 
climbed into the front seat of the buckboard his eyes met 
Joanne’s. He was glad that in a large measure she had 
recovered her self-possession. She smiled at him as they 
drove off, and there was something in the sweet tremble 
of her lips that made him almost fancy she was asking 
his forgiveness for having forgotten herself. Her voice 
sounded more natural to him as she spoke to Mrs. Black- 
ton. The latter, a plump little blue-eyed woman with 
dimples and golden hair, was already making her feel at 
home. She leaned over and placed a hand on her hus- 
band’s shoulder. 

“Let’s drive home by way of town, Paul,” she suggested. 
“It’s only a little farther, and I’m quite sure Miss Gray 
will be interested in our Great White Way of the moun- 
tains. And I’m crazy to see that bear you were telling 
me about,” she added. 

Nothing could have suited Aldous more than this sug- 
gestion. He was sure that Quade, following his own and 
Culver Rann’s old methods, had already prepared stories 
about Joanne, and he not only wanted Quade’s friends— 
but all of Tete Jaune as well — to see Joanne in the com^ 
pany of Mrs. Paul Blackton and her husband. And this 
was a splendid opportunity, for the night carnival was 
already beginning. 

“The bear is worth seeing,” said Blackton, turning his 


THE HUNTED WOMAN 


101 


team in the direction of the blazing light of the half-mile 
street that was the Broadway of T^te Jaune. ‘^And the 
woman who rides him is worth seeing, too,” he chuckled. 
*‘He’s a big fellow — and she plays the Godiva act. Rides 
him up and down the street with her hair down, collecting 
dimes and quarters and half dollars as she goes.” 

A minute later the length of the street swept out ahead 
of them. It is probable that the world had never before 
seen a street just like this Broadway in T^te Jaune — the 
pleasure Mecca of five thousand workers along the line of 
steel. There had been great “camps” in the building of 
other railroads, but never a city in the wilderness like 
this — a place that had sprung up like magic and which, 
a few months later, was doomed to disappear as quickly. 
For half a mile it blazed out ahead of them, two garishly 
lighted rows of shacks, big tents, log buildings, and rou^ 
board structures, with a rough, wide street between. 

To-night Tete Jaune was like a blazing fire against the 
darkness of the forest and mountain beyond. A hundred 
sputtering “jacks” sent up columns of yellow flame in 
front of places already filled with the riot and tumult of 
the night. A thousand lamps and coloured lanterns 
flashed like fireflies along the way, and under them the 
crowd had gathered, and was flowing back and forth. It 
was a weird and fantastic sight — this one strange and 
almost uncanny street that was there largely for the play 
and the excitement of men. 

Aldous turned to Joanne. He knew what this town 
meant. It was the first and the last of its kind, and its 
history would never be written. The world outside the 
mountains knew nothing of it. Like the men who made 


m 


THE HUNTED WOMAN 


up its transient life it would soon be a forgotten thing of 
the past. Even the mountains would forget it. But 
more than once, as he had stood a part of it, his blood had 
warmed at the thought of the things it held secret, the 
things that would die with it, the big human drama it 
stood for, its hidden tragedies, its savage romance, its 
passing comedy. He found something of his own thought 
in Joanne’s eyes. 

‘‘There isn’t much to it,” he said, “but to-night, if you 
made the hunt, you could find men of eighteen or twenty 
nationalities in that street.” 

“And a little more besides,” laughed Blackton. “If 
you could write the complete story of how T6te Jaune has 
broken the law, Aldous, it would fill a volume as big as 
Peggy’s family Bible!” 

“And after all, it’s funny,” said Peggy Blackton. 
“ There ! ” she cried suddenly. “ Isn’t that funny? ” 

The glare and noisy life were on both sides of them now^ 
Half a dozen phonographs were going. From up the 
street came the softer strains of a piano, and from irt 
between the shrieking notes of bagpipe. Peggy Blackton 
was pointing to a brilliantly lighted, black-tarpaulined 
shop. Huge white letters on its front announced that 
Lady Barbers were within. They could see two of them 
at work tlirough the big window. And they were pretty. 
The place was crowded with men. Men were waiting 
outside. 

“Paul says they charge a dollar for a haircut and fifty 
cents for a shave,” explained Peggy Blackton. “And the 
man over there across the street is going broke because he 
can’t get business at fifteen cents a shave. Isn*t it funny? ** 


THE HUNTED WOMAN 


103 


As they went on Aldous searched the street for Quadfe. 
Several times he turned to the back seat, and always he 
found Joanne’s eyes questing in that strange way for the 
some one whom she expected to see. Mrs. Blackton was 
pointing out lighted places, and explaining things as they 
passed, but he knew that in spite of her apparent attention 
Joanne heard only a part of what she was saying. In that 
crowd she hoped — or feared — to find a certain face. And 
again Aldous told himself that it was not Quade’s face. 

Near the end of the street a crowd was gathering, and 
here, for a moment, Blackton stopped his team within 
fifty feet of the objects of attraction. A slim, exquisitely 
formed woman in shimmering silk was standing beside a 
huge brown bear. Her sleek black hair, shining as if it 
had been oiled, fell in curls about her shoulders. Her 
rouged lips were smiling. Even at that distance her black 
eyes sparkled like diamonds. She had evidently just 
finished taking up a collection, for she was fastening the 
cord of a silken purse about her neck. In another moment 
she bestrode the bear, the crowd fell apart, and as the 
onlookers broke into a roar of applause the big beast lum- 
bered slowly up the street with its rider. 

“One of Culver Rann’s friends,” said Blackton sotto voce, 
as he drove on. “She takes in a himdred a night if she 
makes a cent!” 

Blackton’s big log bungalow was close to the engineers* 
camp half a mile distant from the one lighted street and 
the hundreds of tents and shacks that made up the resi- 
dential part of the town. Not until they were inside, and 
Peggy Blackton had disappeared with Joanne for a few 
moments, did Aldous take old Donald MacDonald’s not^ 


104 


THE HUNTED WOMAN 


from his pocket. He pulled out the quill, unfolded the bit 
of paper, and read the few crudely written words the 
mountain man had sent him. Blackton turned in time 
to catch the sudden amazement in his face. Crushing the 
note in his hand, Aldous looked at the other, his moulh 
tightening. 

“You must help me make excuses, old man,” he said 
quietly. “It will seem strange to them if I do not stay 
for supper. But — it is impossible. I must see old Donald 
as quickly as I can get to him.” 

His manner more than his words kept Blackton from 
urging him to remain. The contractor stared at him for 
a moment, his own eyes growing harder and more direct 

“It’s about the shooting,” he said. “If you want me 
to go with you, Aldous ” 

“Thanks. That will be unnecessary.” 

Peggy Blackton and Joanne were returning. Aldous 
turned toward them as they entered the room. With the 
note still in his hand he repeated to them what he had 
told Blackton — that he had received word which made it 
immediately mgent for him to go to MacDonald. He 
shook hands with the Blacktons, promising to be on hand 
for the four o’clock breakfast. 

Joanne followed him to the door and out upon the 
veranda. For a moment they were alone, and now her 
eyes were wide and filled with fear as he clasped her hands 
closely in his own. 

“I saw him,” she whispered, her fingers tightening con- 
vulsively. “ I saw that man — Quade — at the station. He 
followed us up the street. Twice I looked behind — and 
saw him. I am afraid — afraid to let you go back there. I 


THE HUNTED WOMAN 105 

beKeve he is somewhere out there now — waiting for 
you!” 

She was frightened, trembling; and her fear for him, the 
fear in her shining eyes, in her throbbing breath, in the 
clasp of her fingers, sent through John Aldous a joy that 
almost made him free her hands and crush her in his arms 
in the ecstasy of that wonderful moment. Then Peggy 
Blackton and her husband appeared in the door. He 
released her hands, and stepped out into the gloom. The 
cheery good-nights of the Blacktons followed him. And 
Joanne’s good-night was in her eyes — ^following him until 
he was gone, filled with their entreaty and their fear. 

A himdred yards distant, where the trail split to lead 
to the camp of the engineers, there was a lantern on a 
pole. Here Aldous paused, out of sight of the Blackton 
bungalow, and in the dim light read again MacDonald’s 
note. 

Tn a cramped and almost illegible hand the old wanderer 
of the mountains had written: 

Don’t go to cabin. Culver Rann waiting to kill you. Don’t 
show yorself in town. Cum to me as soon as you can on trail 
striking north to Loon Lake. Watch yorself. Be ready with 
yor gun. 

Donald MacDonald. 

Aldous shoved the note in his pocket and slipped back 
out of the lantem-glow into deep shadow. For several 
minutes he stood silent and listening. 


CHAPTER XI 


JOHN ALDOUS stood hidden in the darkness, lis- 
tening for the sound of a footstep, Joanne’s words 
^ still rang in his ears. ‘‘I believe he is out there — 
waiting for you,” she had said; and, chuckling softly in the 
gloom, he toM himself that nothing would give him more 
satisfaction than an immediate and material proof of her 
fear. In the present moment he felt a keen desire to con- 
front Quade face to face out there in the lantern-glow, and 
settle with the mottled beast once for all. The fact that 
Quade had seen Joanne as the guest of the Blacktons 
hardened him in his determination. Quade could no 
longer be in possible error regarding her. He knew that 
she had friends, and that she was not of the kind who could 
be made or induced to play his game and Culver Rann’s. 

If he followed her after this 

Aldous gritted his teeth and stared up and down the 
black trail. Five minutes passed and he heard nothing 
that soimded like a footstep, and he saw no moving 
shadow in the gloom. Slowly he continued along the 
road until he came to where a narrow pack-trail swung 
north and east through the thick spruce and balsam in the 
direction of Loon Lake. Remembering MacDonald’s 
warning, he kept his pistol in his hand. The moon was 
just beginning to rise over the shoulder of a mountain, 
and after a little it lighted up the more open spaces ahead 
106 


THE HUNTED WOMAN 


107 


him. Now and then he paused, and turned to listen. 
As he progressed with slowness and caution, his mind 
worked swiftly. He knew that Donald MacDonald was 
the last man in the world to write such a message as he 
had sent him through Blackton unless there had been a 
tremendous reason for it. But why, he asked himself 
again and again, should Culver Rann want to kill him? 
Rann knew nothing of Joanne. He had not seen her. 
And surely Quade had not had time to formulate a plot 
with his partner before MacDonald wrote his warning. 
Besides, an attempt had been made to assassinate the old 
mountaineer! MacDonald had not warned him against 
Quade. He had told him to guard himself against Rann# 
And what reason could this Culver Rann have for doing 
him injury? The more he thought of it the more puzzled 
he became. And then, in a flash, the possible solution of 
it all came to him. 

Had Culver Rann discovered the secret mission on 
which he and the old mountaineer were going into the 
North? Had he learned of the gold — ^where it was to be 
found? And was their assassination the first step in a 
plot to secure possession of the treasure? 

The blood in Aldous’ veins ran faster. He gripped his 
pistol harder. More closely he looked into the moonlit 
gloom of the trail ahead of him. He believed that he had 
guessed the meaning of MacDonald’s warning. It was the 
gold! More than once thought of the yellow treasure far 
up in the North had thrilled him, but never as it thrilled 
him now. Was the old tragedy of it to be lived over again? 
Was it again to play its part in a terrible drama of men’s 
lives, as it had played it more than forty years ago? The 


108 


THE HUNTED WOMAN 


gold! The gold that for nearly half a century had lain 
with the bones of its dead, alone with its terrible secret, 
alone until Donald MacDonald had foimd it again! He 
had not told Joanne the story of it, the appalling and 
almost unbelievable tragedy of it. He had meant to do 
so. But they had talked of other things. He had meant 
to tell her that it was not the gold itself that was luring 
him far to the north — that it was not the gold alone that 
was taking Donald MacDonald back to it. 

And now, as he stood for a moment listening to the low 
sweep of the wind in the spruce-tops, it seemed to him 
that the night was filled with whispering voices of that 
long-ago — and he shivered, and held his breath. A cloud 
had drifted under the moon. For a few moments it was 
pitch dark. The fingers of his hand dug into the rough 
bark of a spruce. He did not move. It was then that he 
heard something above the caressing rustle of the wind in 
the spruce-tops. 

It came to him faintly, from full half a mile deeper in 
the black forest that reached down to the bank of the 
Frazer. It was the night call of an owl — one of the big 
gray owls that turned white as the snow in winter. Men- 
tally he counted the notes in the call. One, two, three, 
four — and a flood of relief swept over him. It was Mac- 
Donald. They had used that signal in their hunting, 
when they had wished to locate each other without fright- 
ening game. Always there were three notes in the big 
gray owFs quavering cry. The fourth was human. He 
put his hands to his mouth and sent back an answer, 
emphasizing the fomth note. The light breeze had died 
down for a moment, and Aldous heard the old mouDi- 


THE HUNTED WOMAN 


109 


taineer’s reply as it floated faintly back to him through 
the forest. Continuing to hold his pistol, he went on, this 
time more swiftly. 

MacDonald did not signal again. The moon was climb- 
ing rapidly into the sky, and with each passing minute 
the night was becoming lighter. He had gone half a mile 
when he stopped again and signalled softly. MacDonald’s 
voice answered, so near that for an instant the automatic 
flashed in the moonlight. Aldous stepped out where the 
trail had widened into a small open spot. Half a dozen 
paces from him, in the bright flood of the moon, stood 
Donald MacDonald. 

The night, the moon-glow, the tense attitude of his 
waiting added to the weirdness of the picture which the 
old wanderer of the mountains made as Aldous faced him. 
MacDonald was Wll; some trick of the night made him 
appear almost unhumanly tall as he stood in the centre of 
that tiny moonlit amphitheatre. His head was bowed a 
little, and his shoulders drooped a little, for he was old. 
A thick, shaggy beard fell in a silvery sheen over his breast. 
His hair, gray as the underwing of the owl whose note he 
forged, straggled in uncut disarray from under the droop- 
ing rim of a battered and weatherworn hat. His coat was 
of buckskin, and it was short at the sleeves — ^four inches 
too short; and the legs of his trousers were cut off between 
the knees and the ankles, giving him a still greater appear- 
ance of height. 

In the crook of his arm MacDonald held a rifle, a 
strange-looking, long-barrelled rifle of a type a quarter of a 
century old. And Donald MacDonald, in the picture he 
made, was like his gun, old and gray and ghostly, as if he 


110 


THE HUNTED WOMAN 


had risen out of some graveyard of the past to warm 
himself in the yellow splendour of the moon. But in the 
grayness and gauntness of him there was something that 
was mightier than the strength of youth. He was alert. 
In the crook of his arm there was caution. His eyes were 
as keen as the eyes of an animal. His shoulders spoke of 
a strength but little impaired by the years. Ghostly gray 
beard, ghostly gray hair, haunting eyes that gleamed, all 
added to the strange and weird impressiveness of the man 
as he stood before Aldous. And when he spoke, his voice 
had in it the deep, low, cavernous note of a partridge’s 
drumming. 

“I’m glad you’ve come, Aldous,” he said. “I’ve been 
waiting ever since the train come in. I was afraid you’d 
go to the cabin!” 

Aldous stepped forth and gripped the old mountaineer’s 
outstretched hand. There was intense relief in Donald’s 
eyes. 

“I got a little camp back here in the bush,” he went on, 
nodding riverward. “It’s safer ’n the shack these days. 
Yo’re sure — ^there ain’t no one following? ” 

“Quite certain,” assured Aldous. “Look here, Mac^ 
Donald — ^what in thunder has happened? Don’t continue 
my suspense! Who shot you? Why did you warn me?” 

Deep in his beard the old hunter laughed. 

“Same fellow as would have shot you, I guess,” he 
answered. “They made a bad job of it, Johnny, an awful 
bad job, an’ mebbj’' there’d been a better man layin’ for 
you!” 

He was pulling Aldous in the bush as he spoke. For 
ten minutes he dived on ahead through a jungle in which 


THE HUNTED WOMAN 


111 


there was no trail. Suddenly he turned, led the way 
around the edge of a huge mass of rock, and paused a 
moment later before a small smouldering fire. Against thf 
face of a gigantic boulder was a balsam shelter. A few 
cooking utensils were scattered about. It was evident 
that MacDonald had been living here for several days. 

‘"Looks as though I’d run away, don’t it, Johnny?” he 
asked, laughing in his curious, chuckling way again. “An*' 
so I did, boy. From the moimtain up there I’ve been 
watching things through my telescope — been keepin’ quiet 
since Doc puUed the bullet out. I’ve been layin’ for the 
Breed. I wanted him to think I’d vamoosed. I’m goiu* 
to kill him!” 

He had squatted down before the fire, his long rifles 
across his knees, and spoke as quietly as though he was 
talking of a partridge or a squirrel instead of a human 
being. He wormed a hand into one of his pockets and 
produced a small dark object which he handed to Aldous 
The other felt an uncanny chill as it touched his fingers. 
It was a mis-shapened bullet. 

“Doc gave me the lead,” continued MacDonald coolly, 
beginning to slice a pipeful of tobacco from a tar-black 
plug. “It come from Joe’s gun. I’ve hunted with him 
enough to know his bullet. He fired through the window 
of the cabin. If it hadn’t been for the broom handle— » 
just the end of it stickin’ up” — ^he shrugged his gaunt 
shoulders as he stuffed the tobacco into the bowl of hia 
pipe — “I’d been dead!” he finished tersely. 

“You mean that Joe ” 

“Has sold himself to Culver Rann!” exclaimed Mac^ 
Donald. He sprang to his feet. For the first time he 


112 


THE HUNTED WOMAN 


showed excitement. His eyes blazed with repressed rage. 
A hand gripped the barrel of his rifle as if to crush it. 
“He’s sold himseK to Culver Rann!” he repeated. “He’s 
sold him our secret. He’s told him where the gold is, 
Johnny! He’s bargained to guide Rann an’ his crowd to 
it! An’ first — they’re goin’ to kill usV' 

With a low whistle Aldous took off his hat. He ran a 
hand through his blond-gray hair. Then he replaced his 
hat and drew two cigars from his pocket. MacDonald 
accepted one. Aldous’ eyes were glittering; his lips were 
smiling. 

“They are, are they, Donald.^ They’re going to kill us?” 

“They’re goin’ to try,” amended the old hunter, with 
another cmious chuckle in his ghostly beard. “They’re 
goin’ to try, Johnny. That’s why I told you not to go 
to the cabin. I wasn’t expecting you for a week. To- 
morrow I was goin’ to start on a hike for Miette. I been 
watching through my telescope from the mountain up 
there. I see Quade come in this morning on a hand-car. 
Twice I see him and Rann together. Then I saw Blackton 
hike out into the bush. I was worrying about you an’ 
wondered if he had any word. So I laid for him on the 
trail — an’ I guess it was lucky. I ain’t been able to set 
my eyes on Joe. I looked for hours through the tele- 
scope — an’ I couldn’t find him. He’s gone, or Culver Rann 
5s keeping him out of sight.” 

For several moments Aldous looked at his companion in 
silence. Then he said: 

“You’re sure of all this, are you, Donald? You have 
good proof — ^that Joe has turned traitor?” 

*H’ve been suspicious of him ever since we come dowa 


THE HUNTED WOMAN 


113 


from the North,” spoke MacDonald slowly. “I watched 
him — ^night an’ day. I was afraid he’d get a grubstake 
an’ start back alone. Then I saw him with Culver Rann. 
It was late. I heard ’im leave the shack, an’ I followed. 
He went to Rann’s house — an’ Rann was expecting him. 
Three times I followed him to Culver Rann’s house. I 
knew what was happening then, an’ I planned to get him 
back in the mountains on a hunt, an’ kill him. But I was 
too late. The shot came through the window. Then he 
disappeared. An’ — Culver Rann is getting an outfit 
together! Twenty head of horses, with grub for three 
months!” 

“The deuce! And our outfit? Is it ready?” 

“To the last can o’ beans!” 

“And your plan, Donald?” 

All at once the old mountaineer’s eyes were aflame with 
eagerness as he came nearer to Aldous. 

“Get out of Tete Jaune to-night!” he cried in a low, 
hissing voice that quivered with excitement. “Hit the 
trail before dawn! Strike into the mountains with our 
outfit — far enough back — and then wait!” 

“Wait?” 

“Yes — wait. If they follow us — -fight 

Slowly Aldous held out a hand. The old mountaineer’s 
met it. Steadily they looked into each other’s eyes. 

Then John Aldous spoke: 

“If this had been two days ago I would have said yes. 
But to-night — it is impossible.” 

The fingers that had tightened about his own relaxed. 
Slowly a droop came into MacDonald’s shoulders. Dis- 
appointment, a look that was almost despair settled in hb 


114 


THE HUNTED WOMAN 


eyes. Seeing the change, Aldous held the old hunter’s 
hand more firmly. 

‘‘That doesn’t mean we’re not going to fight,” he said 
quickly. “Only we’ve got to plan differently. Sit down, 
Donald. Something has been happening to me. And 
I’m going to tell you about it.” 

A little back from the fire they seated themselves, and 
Aldous told Donald MacDonald about Joanne. 

He began at the beginning, from the moment his eyes 
first saw her as she entered Quade’s place. He left nothing 
out. He told how she had come into his life, and how he 
intended to fight to keep her from going out of it. He told 
of his fears, his hopes, the mystery of their coming to T^te 
Jaune, and how Quade had preceded them to plot the 
destruction of the woman he loved. He described her as 
she had stood that morning, hke a radiant goddess in the 
sun; and when he came to that he leaned nearer, and said 
softly: 

“And when I saw her there, Donald, with her hair 
streaming about her hke that, I thought of the time you 
told me of that other woman — the woman of years and 
years ago — and how you, Donald, used to look upon her 
in the sun, and rejoice in your possession. Her spirit has 
been with you always. You have told me how for nearly 
fifty years you have followed it over these mountains. 
And this woman means as much to me. If she should 
die to-night her spirit would live with me in that same 
way. You understand, Donald. I can’t go into the 
mountains to-night. God knows when I can go — ^now. But 
you ” 

MacDonald had risen. He turned his face to the black 


THE HUNTED WOMAN 115 

^^all of the forest. Aldous thought he saw a sudden 
quiver pass through the great, bent shoulders. 

“And I,” said MacDonald slowly, “will have the horses 
ready for you at dawn. We will fight this other fight — 
kter.*^ 


\ 


V 


CHAPTER Xn 


F or an hour after Donald MacDonald had pledged 
himself to accompany Joanne and Aldous on their 
pilgrimage to the grave in the Saw Tooth Range 
the two men continued to discuss the unusual complica- 
tions in which they had suddenly become involved, and at 
the same time prepared themselves a supper of bacon and 
coffee over the fire. They agreed upon a plan of action 
with one exception. Aldous was determined to return to 
the town, arguing there was a good strategic reason for 
showing himself openly and without fear. MacDonald 
opposed this apprehensively. 

^‘Better lay quiet until morning,” he expostulated. 
You’d better listen to me, an’ do that, Johnny. I’ve 
got something in my shoulder that tells me you’d 
better!” 

In the face of the old hunter’s misgiving, Aldous pre- 
pared to leave. It was nearly ten o’clock when he set 
back in the direction of Tete Jaune, Donald accompanying 
him as far as the moonlit amphitheatre in the forest. 
There they separated, and Aldous went on alone. 

He believed that Joanne and the Blacktons would half 
expect him to return to the bungalow after he had seen 
MacDonald. He was sure that Blackton, at least, would 
look for him until quite late. The temptation to take 
advantage of their hospitality was great, especially as it 
iid 


THE HUNTED WOMAN 


117 


would bring him in the company of Joanne again. On the 
other hand, he was certain that this first night in Tete 
Jaime held very large possibilities for him. The detective 
instinct in him was roused, and his adventurous spirit was 
alive for action. First of all, he wanted proof of Mviiat 
MacDonald had told him. That an attempt had been 
made to assassinate the old mountaineer he did not for an 
instant doubt. But had Joe DeBar, the half-breed, actu- 
ally betrayed them.?^ Had he sold himself to Culver Rann, 
and did Rann hold the key to the secret expedition they 
had planned into the North? He did not, at first, care to 
see Rann. He made up his mind that if he did meet him 
he would stop and chat casually with him, as though he 
had heard and seen nothing to rouse his suspicions. He 
particularly wanted to find DeBar; and, next to DeBar, 
Quade himself. 

The night carnival was at its height when Aldous re- 
entered the long, lighted street. From ten until eleven 
was the liveliest horn* of the night. Even the restaurants 
and soup-kitchens were crowded then. He strolled slowly 
down the street until he came to a little crowd gathered 
about the bear equestrienne. The big canvas dance-hall 
a few doors away had lured from her most of her admirers 
by this time, and Aldous found no dfficulty in reaching 
the inner circle. He looked fiirst for the half-breed. Fail- 
ing to find him, he looked at the woman, who stood only 
a few feet from him. Her glossy black curls were a bit 
dishevelled, and the excitement of the night had added to 
the vivid colouring of her rouged lips and cheeks. Her 
body was sleek and sinuous in its silken vesture; arms and 
shoulders were startlingly white; and when she turned, fac- 


118 THE HUNTED WOMAN 

ing Aldous, her black eyes flashed fires of deviltry and ah 
lurement. 

For a moment he stared into her face. If he had not 
been looking closely he would not have caught the swift 
change that shot into the siren-like play of her orbs. It 
was almost instantaneous. Her slow-travelling glance 
stopped as she saw him. He saw the quick intake of her 
breath, a sudden compression of her lips, the startled^ 
searching scrutiny of a pair of eyes from which, for k 
moment, all the languor and coquetry of her trade were 
gone. Then she passed him, smiling again, nodding, 
sweeping a hand and arm effectively through her handsome 
curls as she flung a shapely Kmb over the broad back of 
the bear. In a garish sort of way the woman was beauti- 
ful, and this night, as on all others, her beauty had nearly 
filled the silken coin-bag suspended from her neck. A$ 
she rode down the street Aldous recalled Blackton’s words: 
She was a friend of Culver Rann’s. He wondered if this 
fact accoimted for the strangeness of the look she had 
given him. 

He passed on to the dance-hall. It was crowded, 
mostly with men. But here and there, like so many faces 
peering forth from living graves, he saw the Little Sisters 
of TSte Jaune Cache. Outnumbered ten to one, their 
voices rang out in shrill banter and delirious laughter 
above the rumble of men. At the far end, a fiddle, a piano, 
and a clarinet were squealing forth music. The place 
smelled strongly of whisky. It always smelled of that, for 
most of the men who sought amusement here got their 
whisky in spite of the law. There were rock-hogs from up 
the line, and rock-hogs from down the line, m^ of all 


THE HUNTED WOMAN 


119 


nationalities and of almost all ages; teamsters, trail-cutters, 
packers, and rough-shod navvies; men whose daily task 
was to play with dynamite and giant powder; steel-men, 
tie-men, and men who drilled into the hearts of mountains. 
More than once John Aldous had looked upon this same 
scene, and had listened to the trample and roar and wild 
revelry of it, marvelling that to-morrow the men of this 
saturnalia would again be the builders of an empire. The 
thin, hollow-cheeked faces that passed and repassed him, 
rouged and smiling, could not destroy in his mind the 
strength of the picture. They were but moths, fluttering 
about in their own doom, contending with each other to 
see which should quickest achieve destruction. 

For several minutes Aldous scanned the faces in the big 
tent-hall, and nowhere did he see DeBar. He dropped 
out, and continued leisurely along the lighted way until 
he came to Lovak’s huge black-and-white striped soup- 
tent. At ten o’clock, and until twelve, this was as 
crowded as the dance-hall. Aldous knew Lovak, the 
Hungarian. 

Through Lovak he had found the key that had unlocked 
for him many curious and interesting things associated 
with that powerful Left Arm of the Empire Builders — the 
Slav. Except for a sprinkling of Germans, a few Italians, 
and now and then a Greek or Swiss, only the Slavs fllled 
Lovak’s place — ^Slavs from all the Russias and the nations 
south: the quick and chattering Polak; the thick-set, 
heavy-jowled Croatian; the silent and dangerous-eyed 
Lithuanian. All came in for Lovak’s wonderful soup, 
which he sold in big yellow bowls at ten cents a bowl — soup 
of barley, rice, and cabbage, of beef and mutton, of every- 


120 


THE HUNTED WOMAN 


thing procurable out of which soup could be made, and, 
whether of meat or vegetable, smelling to heaven of 
garlic. 

Fifty men were eating when Aldous went in, devouring 
their soup with the utter abandon and joy of the Galician, 
so that the noise they made was like the noise of fifty pigs 
at fifty troughs. Now and then DeBar, the half-breed, 
came here for soup, and Aldous searched quickly for him. 
He was turning to go when his friend, Lovak, came to him. 
No, Lovak had not seen DeBar. But he had news. That 
day the authorities — the police — ^had confiscated twenty 
dressed hogs, and in each porcine carcass they had found 
fom-quart bottles of whisky, artistically imbedded in the 
leaf-lard fat. The day before those same authorities had 
confiscated a barrel of “kerosene.’* They were becoming 
altogether too oflacious, Lovak thought. 

Aldous went on. He looked in at a dozen restaurants, 
and twice as many soft-drink emporiums, where phono- 
graphs were worked until they were cracked and dizzy. 
He stopped at a small tobacco shop, and entered to buy 
himself some cigars. There was one other customer ahead 
of him. He was lighting a cigar, and the light of a big 
hanging lamp flashed on a diamond ring. Over his sput- 
tering match his eyes met those of John Aldous. They 
were dark eyes, neither brown nor black, but dark, with 
the keenness and strange glitter of a serpent’s. He wore 
a small, clipped moustache; his hands were white; he was a 
man whom one might expect to possess the sang froid of a 
devil in any emergency. For barely an instant he hesi- 
tated in the operation of lighting his cigar as he saw 
Aldous. Then he nodded. 


THE HUNTED WOMAN 


121 


** Hello, John Aldous,’" he said. 

‘‘Good evening, Culver Rann,’^ replied Aldous» 

For a moment his nerves had tingled — the next they 
were like steel. Culver Rann’s teeth gleamed. Aldous 
smiled back. They were cold, hard, rapierlike glances. 
Each understood now that the other was a deadly enemy, 
for Quade’s enemies were also Culver Rann’s. Aldous 
moved carelessly to the glass case in which were the cigars. 
With the barest touch of one of his slim white hands 
Culver Rann stopped him. 

“Have one of mine, Aldous,” he invited, opening a 
silver case filled with cigars. “WeVe never had the 
pleasure of smoking together, you know.” 

“Never,” said Aldous, accepting one of the cigars. 
“Thanks.” 

As he lighted it, their eyes met again. Aldous turned 
to the case. 

“Half a dozen ‘Noblemen,’” he said to the man behind 
the coimter; then, to Rann: “Will you have one on me?” 

“With pleasme,” said Rann. He added, smiling 
straight into the other’s eyes, “What are you doing up 
here, Aldous? After local colour?” 

“Perhaps. The place interests me.” 

“It’s a lively town.” 

“Decidedly. And I understand that you’ve played an 
important part in the making of it,” replied Aldous care- 
lessly. 

For a flash Rann’s eyes darkened, and his mouth 
hardened, then his white teeth gleamed again. He had 
caught the insinuation, and he had scarcely been able to 
ward off the shot. 


THE HUNTED WOMAN 


:2 

**IVe tried to do my small share/’ he admitted. 

»u’re after local colour for your books, Aldous, I possibly 

ay be able to assist you — ^if you’re in town long.” 

‘‘Undoubtedly you could,” said Aldous. “I think you 
could tell me a great deal that I would like to know, Rann. 
But — ^will you?” 

There was a direct challenge in his coldly smiling eyes, 

“Yes, I think I shall be quite pleased to do so,” said 
Rann. “Especially — if you are long in town.” There 
was an odd emphasis on those last words. 

He moved toward the door. 

“And if you are here very long,” he added, his eyes 
gleaming significantly, “it is possible you may have ex- 
periences of your own which would make very interesting 
reading if they ever got into print. Good-night, Aldous!” 

Yot two or three minutes after Rann had gone Aldous 
loitered in the tobacco shop. Then he went out. All at 
once it struck him that he should have kept his eyes on 
Quade’s partner. He should have followed him. With 
the hope of seeing him again he walked up and down the 
street. It was eleven o’clock when he went into Big 
Ben’s pool-room. Five minutes later he came out just as 
a woman hurried past him, carrying with her a strong 
scent of perfume. It was the Lady of the Bear. She was 
in a street dress now, her glossy curls still falling loose 
about her — ^probably homeward bound after her night’s 
harvest. It struck Aldous that the hour was early for heri 
retirement, and that she seemed somewhat in a hurry. 

The woman was going in the direction of Rann’s big log 
bungalow, which was built well out of town toward the 
river. She had not seen him as he stood in the pool-room 


THE HUNTED WOMAN 


123 


doorway, and before she had passed out of sight he was 
following her. There were a dozen branch trails and 
“streets” on the way to Eann’s, and into the gloom of 
some one of these the woman disappeared, so that Aldous 
lost her entirely. He was not disappointed when he 
found she had left the main trail. 

Five minutes later he stood close to Rann^s house. 
From the side on which he had approached it was dark. 
No gleam of light showed through the windows. Slowly 
he walked around the building, and stopped suddenly on 
the opposite side. Here a closely drawn curtain was 
illuminated by a glow from within. Cautiously Aldous 
made his way along the log wall of the house until he came 
to the window. At one side the curtain had caught 
against some object, leaving perhaps a quarter of an inch 
of space through which the light shone. Aldous brought 
his eyes on a level with this space. 

A half of the room came within his vision. Directly in 
front of him, lighted by a curiously shaped iron lamp 
suspended from the ceiling, was a dull red mahogany 
desk-table. At one side of this, partly facing him, was 
Culver Rann. Opposite him sat Quade. 

Rann was speaking, while Quade, with his bullish 
shoulders himched forward and his fleshy red neck rolling 
over the collar of his coat, leaned across the table in a 
tense and listening attitude. With his eyes glued to th6 
aperture, Aldous strained his ears to catch what Rann was 
saying. He heard only the low and unintelligible mono- 
tone of his voice. A mocking smile was accompanying 
Rann’s words. To-night, as at all times, this hawk who 
preyed upon human lives was immaculate. In all ways 


THE HUNTED WOMAN 


m 

but one he was the antithesis of the beefy scoundrel wlio 
sat opposite him. On the hand that toyed carelessly with 
the fob of his watch flashed a diamond; another sparkled 
in his cravat. His dark hair was sleek and well brushed; 
his bristly little moustache was clipped in the latest fashion. 
He was not large. His hands, as he made a gesture 
toward Quade, were of womanish whiteness. Casually, 
on the street or in a Pullman, Aldous would have taken 
him for a gentleman. Now, as he stared through the 
narrow slit between the bottom of the curtain and the sill^ 
he knew that he was looking upon one of the most dan* 
gerous men in all the West. Quade was a villain. Culver 
Rann, quiet and cool and suave, was a devil. Behind 
his depravity worked the brain which Quade lacked, and 
a nerve which, in spite of that almost effeminate immacu- 
iateness, had been described to Aldous as colossal. 

Suddenly Quade turned, and Aldous saw that he was 
flushed and excited. He struck the desk a blow with his 
fist. Culver Rann leaned back and smiled. And John 
Aldous slipped away from the window. 

His nerves were quivering; in the darkness he unbut- 
toned the pocket that held his automatic. Through the 
window he had seen an open door behind Rann, and his 
blood thrilled with the idea that had come to him. He 
was sure the two partners in crime were discussing himself 
and MacDonald — ^and Joanne. To hear what they were 
saying, to discover their plot, would be three quarters of 
the fight won, if it came to a fight. The open door was 
an inspiration. 

Swiftly and silently he went to the rear of the house. 
He tried the door and found it unlocked. Softly he 


THE HUNTED WOMAN 


m 

vDpened it, swinging it inward an inch at a time, and 
scarcely breathing as he entered. It was dark, and there 
was a second closed door ahead of him. From beyond 
that he heard voices. He closed the outer door so that he 
would not be betrayed by a cmrent of air or a sound from 
out of the night. Then, even more cautiously and slowly^ 
he began to open the second door. 

An inch at first, then two inches, three inches — a foot — 
he worked the door inward. There was no light in this 
second room, and he lay close to the fioor, head and 
shoulders thrust well in. Through the third and open 
door he saw Quade and Culver Rann. Rann was laughing 
softly as he lighted a fresh cigar. His voice was quiet and 
good humoured, but filled with a banter which it was evi- 
dent Quade was not appreciating. 

‘‘You amaze me,” Rann was saying. “You amaze me 
utterly. You’ve gone mad — mad as a rock-rabbit, Quade" 
Do you mean to tell me you’re on the square when you 
offer to turn over a half of yom share in the gold if I help 
you to get this woman.^^” 

“I do,” replied Quade thickly. “I mean just that! 
And we’ll put it down in black an’ white — ^here, now. You 
fix the papers, same as any other deal, and I’ll sign!” 

For a moment Culver Rann did not reply. He leaned 
back in his chair, thrust the thumbs of his white hands in 
his vest, and sent a cloud of smoke above his head. Then 
he looked at Quade, a gleam of humour in his eyes. 

“Nothing like a woman for turning a man’s head soft,” 
he chuckled. “Nothing in the world like it, ’pon my 
word, Quade. First it was DeBar. I don’t believe we’d 
fCot him if he hadn’t seen Marie riding her bear. Marie 


126 


THE HUNTED WOMAN 


and her curls and her silk tights, Quade — s’elp me, it 
wouldn’t have surprised me so much if you’d fallen in love 
with her I And over this other woman you’re as mad as 
Joe is over Marie. At first sight he was ready to sell his 
soul for her. So — I gave Marie to him. And now, for 
some other woman, you’re just as anxious to smrender a 
half of yom* share of what we’ve bought through Marie. 
Good heaven, man, if you were in love with Marie — — ” 
‘‘Damn Marie!” growled Quade. “I know the time 
when you were bugs over her yourself, Rann. It wasn’t 

so long ago. If I’d looked at her then ” 

“Of course, not then,” interrupted Rann smilingly. 
“That would have been impolite, Quade, and not at all 
in agreement with the spirit of our brotherly partnership. 
And, you must admit, Marie is a devilish good-looking 
girl. I’ve surrendered her only for a brief spell to DeBar. 
After he has taken us to the gold — ^why, the poor idiot 

will probably have been sufficiently happy to ” 

He paused, with a suggestive shrug of his shoulders. 

“ — go into cold storage,” finished Quade. 

“Exactly.” 

Again Quade leaned over the table, and for a moment 
there was silence, a silence in which Aldous thought the 
pounding of his heart must betray him. He lay motion- 
less on the floor. The nails of his fingers dug into the 
bare wood. Under the palm of his right hand lay his 
automatic. 

Then Quade spoke. There must have been more in his 
face than was spoken in his words, for Culver Rann took 
the cigar from between his lips, and a light that was deadly 
serious slowly filled his eyes. 


THE HUNTED WOMAN 


127 


*‘Rann, we’ll talk business!” Quade’s voice was harsh, 
deep, and quivering. “I want this woman. I may be a 
fool, but I’m going to have her. I might get her alone, 
but we’ve always done things together — an’ so I made 
you that proposition. It ain’t a hard job. It’s one of the 
easiest jobs we ever had. Only that fool of a writer is in 
the way — an’ he’s got to go anyway. We’ve got to get 
rid of him on accoimt of the gold, him an’ MacDonald. 
We’ve got that planned. An’ I’ve showed you how we 
can get the woman, an’ no one ever know. Are you in on 
this with me?” 

Culver Rann’s reply was as quickNand sharp as a pistol 
shot. 

“I am.” 

For another moment there was silence. Then Quade 
asked: 

“Any need of writin’. Culver?” 

“No. There can’t be a written agreement in this deal 
because — ^it’s dangerous. There won’t be much said about 
old MacDonald. But questions, a good many of them, will 

be asked about this man Aldous. As for the woman ” 

Rann shrugged his shoulders with a sinister smile. “She 
will disappear like the others,” he finished. “No one will 
ever get on to that. If she doesn’t make a pal like Marie — 
after a time, why ” 

Again Aldous saw that peculiar shrug of his shoulderSc 

Quade’s head nodded on his thick neck. 

“Of course, I agree to that,” he said. “After a time. 
But most of ’em have come over, ain’t they. Culver? Eh? 
Most of ’em have,” he chuckled coarsely. “When you 
see her you won’t call me a fool for going dippy over her, 


128 


THE HUNTED WOMAN 


Culver. And she’ll come round all right after she’s gone 
through what we’ve got planned for her. I’ll make a pal 
of her!” 

In that moment, as he listened to the gloating passion 
and triumph in Quade’s brutal voice, something broke in 
the brain of John Aldous. It filled him with a fire that 
in an instant had devoured every thought or plan he had 
made, and in this madness he was consumed by a single 
desire — the desire to kill. And yet, as this conflagration 
surged through him, it did not blind or excite him. It 
did not make him leap forth in animal rage. It was 
something more terrible. He rose so quietly that the 
others did not see or hear him in the dark outer room. 
They did not hear the slight metallic click of the safety on 
his pistol. 

For the space of a breath he stood and looked at them. 
He no longer sensed the words Quade was uttering. He 
was going in coolly and calmly to kill them. There was 
something disagreeable in the flashing thought that he 
might kill them from where he stood. He would not fire 
from the dark. He wanted to experience the exquisite 
sensation of that one first moment when they would 
writhe back from him, and see in him the presence of 
death. He would give them that one moment of life — 
just that one. Then he would kill. 

With his pistol ready in his hand he stepped out inte 
the lighted room. 

‘‘Good evening, gentlemen!” he said. 


CHAPTER XIII 


F or a space of perhaps twenty seconds after John 
Aldous announced himself there was no visible sigr 
of life on the part of either Quade or Culver Rann 
The latter sat stunned. Not the movement of a fingei 
broke the stonelike immobility of his attitude. His eyec 
were like two dark coals gazing steadily as a serpent’s over 
Quade’s hunched shoulders and bowed head. Quade 
seemed as if frozen on the point of speaking to Rann. 
One hand was still poised a foot above the table. It was 
he who broke the tense and lifeless tableau. 

Slowly, almost as slowly as Aldous had opened the door, 
Quade tmned his head, and stared into the coldly smiling 
face of the man whom he had plotted to kill, and saw the 
gleaming pistol in his hand. A curious look overcame his 
pouchy face, a look not altogether of terror — ^but of shock. 
He knew Aldous had heard. He accepted in an instant, 
and perceptibly, the significance of the pistol in his hand. 
But Culver Rann sat like a rock. His face expressed 
nothing. Not for the smallest part of a second had he 
betrayed any emotion that might be throbbing within him. 
In spite of himself Aldous admired the man’s unflinching 
nerve. 

*‘Good evening, gentlemen!” he repeated. 

Then Rann leaned slowly forward over the table. One 
hand rose to his moustache. It was his right hand. The 


130 


THE HUNTED WOMAN 


other was invisible. Quade pulled himself together and 
stepped to the end of the table, his two empty hands in 
front of him. Aldous, still smiling, faced Rann’s glittering 
eyes and covered him with his automatic. Culver Rann 
twisted the end of his moustache, and smiled back. 

“Well.?^” he said. “Is it checkmate?” 

“It is,” replied Aldous. “I’ve promised you scoundrels 
one minute of life. I guess that minute is about up,” 

The last word was scarcely out of his mouth when the. 
room was in darkness — a darkness so complete and sudden 
that for an instant his hand faltered, and in that instant 
he heard the overturning of a chair and the falling of a 
body. Twice his automatic sent a lightning-flash of fire 
where Culver Rann had sat; twice it spat threadhke 
ribbons of flame through the blackness where Quade had 
stood. He knew what had happened, and also what to 
expect if he lost out now. The curiously shaped iron 
lamp had concealed an electric bulb, and Rann had turned 
off the switch-key under the table. He had no further 
time to think. An object came hurtling through the thick 
gloom and fell with terrific force on his outstretched pistol 
arm. His automatic flew from his hand and struck 
against the wall. Unarmed, he sprang back toward the 
open door — ^fuU into the arms of Quade! 

Aldous knew that it was Quade and not Culver Rann, 
and he struck out with all the force he could gather in a 
short-arm blow. His fist landed against Quade’s thick 
neck. Again and again he struck, and Quade’s grip 
loosened. In another moment he would have reached the 
door if Rann had not caught him from behind. Never had 
Aldous felt the clutch of hands like those of the womanidi 


THE HUNTED WOMAN 


m 


hands of Culver Rann. It was as if sinuous fingers of 
steel were burying themselves in his flesh. Before they 
found his throat he flung himself backward with all his 
weight, and with a tremendous effort freed himself. 

Both Quade and Culver Rann now stood between him 
and the door. He could hear Quade’s deep, panting 
breath. Rann, as before, was silent as death. Then he 
heard the door close. A key clicked in the lock. He was 
trapped. 

“Turn on the light, Billy,” he heard Rann say in a 
quiet, unexcited voice. “WeVe got this house-breaker 
cornered, and he’s lost his gun. Turn on the light — ^and 
I’ll make one shot do the business!” 

Aldous heard Quade moving, but he was not coming 
toward the table. Somewhere in the room was another 
switch connected with the iron lamp, and Aldous felt a 
curious chill shoot up his spine. Without seeing through 
that pitch darkness of the room he sensed the fact that 
Culver Rann was standing with his back against the 
locked door, a revolver in his hand. And he knew that 
Quade, feeling his way along the wall, held a revolver in 
his hand. Men like these two did not go unarmed. The 
instant the light was turned on they would do their work. 
As he stood, silent as Culver Rann, he realized the tables 
were turned. In that moment’s madness roused by 
Quade’s gloating assurance of possessing Joanne he had 
revealed himself like a fool, and now he was about to reap 
the whirlwind of his folly. Dehberately he had given 
himself up to his enemies. They, too, would be fools if 
they allowed him to escape alive. 

He heard Quade stop. His thick hand was fumbling 


THE HUNTED WOMAN 


along the wall. Aldous guessed that he was feeling for 
the switch. He almost fancied he could see Rann’s 
revolver levelled at him through the darkness. In that 
thrilling moment his mind worked with the swiftness of a 
powder flash. One of his hands touched the edge of the 
desk-table, and he knew that he was standing directly 
opposite the cmtained window, perhaps six feet from it. 
If he flung himseK through the window the curtain would 
save him from being cut to pieces. 

No sooner had the idea of escape come to him than he had 
acted. A flood of light filled the room as his body crashed 
through the glass. He heard a cry — a single shot — ^as he 
struck the ground. He gathered himself up and ran 
swiftly. Fifty yards away he stopped, and looked back. 
Quade and Rann were in the window. Then they disap- 
peared, and a moment later the room was again in gloom. 

For a second time Aldous hurried in the direction of 
MacDonald’s camp. He knew that, in spite of the pro- 
tecting curtain, the glass had cut him. He felt the warm 
blood dripping over his face; both hands were wet with it. 
The arm on which he had received the blow from the 
unseen object in the room gave him considerable pain, 
and he had slightly sprained an ankle in his leap through 
the window, so that he limped a little. But his mind was 
clear — so clear that in the face of his physical discomfort 
he caught himseK laughing once or twice as he made his 
way along the trail. 

Aldous was not of an ordinary type. To a curious and 
superlative degree he could appreciate a defeat as well as 
a triumph. His adventures had been a part of a IKe in 
which he had not always expected to win, and in to-night’g 


THE HUNTED WOMAN 


13S 


game he admitted that he had been hopelessly and ridicu- 
lously beaten. Tragedy, to him, was a first cousin of 
comedy; to-night he had set out to kill, and, instead of 
killing, he had run like a jack-rabbit for cover. Also, in 
that same half-hour Rann and Quade had been sure of him, 
and he had given them the surprise of their lives by his 
catapultic disappearance through the window. There was 
something ludicrous about it all — something that, to him, 
at least, had tmned a possible tragedy into a very good 
comedy-drama. 

Nor was Aldous blind to the fact that he had made 
an utter fool of himself, and that the consequences of his 
indiscretion might prove extremely serious. Had hcr 
listened to the conspirators without betraying himself he 
would have possessed an important advantage over them. 
The knowledge he had gained from overhearing their con- 
versation would have made it comparatively easy for 
MacDonald and him to strike them a perhaps fatal blow 
through the half-breed DeBar. As the situation stood now, 
he figured that Quade and Culver Rann held the advan- 
tage. Whatever they had planned to do they would put 
into quick execution. They would not lose a minute. 

It was not for himself that Aldous feared. Neither did 
he fear for Joanne. Every drop of red fighting blood in 
him was ready for further action, and he was determined 
that Quade should find no opportunity of accomplishing 
any scheme he might have against Joanne’s person. On 
the other hand, imless they could head off DeBar, he 
believed that Culver Rann’s chances of reaching the gold 
ahead of them would grow better with the passing of each 
hour. To protect Joanne from Quade he must lose no 


134 


THE HUNTED WOMAN 


time. MacDonald would be in the same predicament^ 
while Rann, assisted by as many rascals of his own colour 
as he chose to take with him, would be free to carry out 
the other part of the conspirators’ plans. V 

The longer he thought of the mess he had stirred up 
the more roundly Aldous cmsed his imprudence. And 
thi^^ mess, as he viewed it in these cooler moments, was 
even less disturbing than the thought of what might have 
happened had he succeeded in his intention of killing both 
Quade and Rann. Twenty times as he made his way 
through the darkness toward MacDonald’s camp he told 
himself that he must have been mad. To have killed 
Rann or Quade in self-defence, or in open fight, would 
have been playing the game with a shadow of mountain 
law behind it. But he had invaded Rann’s home. Had 
he killed them he would have had but little more excuse 
than a house-breaker or a suspicious husband might have 
had. T6te Jaune would not countenance cold-blooded 
shooting, even of criminals. He should have taken old 
Donald’s advice and waited until they were in the moun- 
tains. An unpleasant chill ran through him as he thought 
of the narrowness of his double escape. 

To his smprise, John Aldous found MacDonald awake 
when he arrived at the camp in the thickly timbered coulee. 
He was preparing a midnight cup of coffee over a fire that 
was burning cheerfully between two big rocks. Purposely 
Aldous stepped out into the full illumination of it. The 
old himter looked up. For a moment he stared into the 
blood-smeared face of his friend; then he sprang to his 
feet, and caught him by the arm. 

‘‘Yes^ I got it.” nodded Aldous cheerfully. went 


THE HUNTED WOMAN 1S5 

out for it, Mac, and I got it! Get out your emergency kit, 
irill you? I rather fancy I need a little patching up.” 

MacDonald uttered not a word. From the balsam 
lean-to he brought out a small rubber bag and a towel. 
Into a canvas wash-basin he then turned a half pail of 
cold water, and Aldous got on his knees beside this. Not 
once did the old mountaineer speak while he was washing 
the blood from Aldous’ face and hands. There was a 
shallow two-inch cut in his forehead, two deeper ones in 
his right cheek, and a gouge in his chin. There were a 
dozen cuts on his hands, none of them serious. Before he 
had finished MacDonald had used two thirds of a roU of 
court-plaster. 

Then he spdce. 

‘‘You can soak them off in the morning,” he said. “If 
you don’t, the lady’ll think yo’re a red Indian on the 
warpath. Now, yo’ fool, what have yo’ gone an’ done?” 

Aldous told him what had happened, and before Mac- 
Donald could utter an expression of his feelings he admitted 
that he was an inexcusable idiot and that nothing Mac- 
Donald might say could drive that fact deeper home. 

“If I’d come out after hearing what they had to say, 
we could have got DeBar at the end of a gun and settled 
the whole business,” he finished. “As it is, we’re in a 
mess.” 

MacDonald stretched his gaunt gray frame before 
the fire. He picked up his long rifle, and fingered the 
lock. 

“You figger they’ll get away with DeBar?” 

“Yes, to-night.” 

MacDonald threw open the breech of his single-loader 


136 


THE HUNTED WOMAN 


and drew out a cartridge as long as his finger. Replacing 
it, he snapped the breech shut. 

‘‘Don’t know as I’m pertic’lar sad over what’s hapi 
pened,” he said, with a curious look at Aldous. “We 
might have got out of this without what you call strenu’us 
trouble. Now — ^it’s fight! It’s goin’ to be a matter of 
guns an’ bullets, Johnny — ^back in the mountains. You 
figger Rann an’ the snake of a half-breed’ll get the start 
of us. Let ’em have a start! They’ve got two hundred 
miles to go, an’ two hundred miles to come back. Only — 
they won’t come back!” 

Under his shaggy brows the old hunter^s eyes gleamed 
as he looked at Aldous. 

“To-morrow we’ll go to the grave,” he added. “Yo’re 
cm’ous to know what’s goin’ to happen when we find that 
grave, Johnny. So am I. I hope 

“What do you hope?” 

MacDonald shook his great gray head in the dying 
firelight. 

“Let’s go to bed, Johnny,” he rumbled softly m hb 
beard. “It’s gettin’ late.” 


CHAPTER XIV 


T O SLEEP after the excitement through which he 
had passed, and with to-morrow’s imcertainties 
ahead of him, seemed to Aldous a physical im- 
possibility. Yet he slept, and soundly. It was Mac- 
Donald who roused him three hours later. They prepared 
a quick breakfast over a small fire, and Aldous heated 
water in which he soaked his face until the strips of court- 
plaster peeled off. The scratches were lividly evident, but, 
inasmuch as he had a choice of but two evils, he preferred 
that Joanne should see these instead of the abominable 
disfigurement of court-plaster strips. 

Old Donald took one look at him through half-closed 
eyes. 

“You look as though you’d come out of a tussle with a 
grizzly,” he grinned. “Want some fresh court-plaster?” 

“And look as though I’d come out of a circus — ^no!” 
retorted AJdous. “I’m invited to breakfast at the Black- 
tons’, Mac. How the devil am I going to get out of it?” 

“Tell ’em you’re sick,” chuckled the old hunter, who 
saw something funny in the appearance of Aldous’ face. 
“Good Lord, how I’d liked to have seen you come through 
that window — in daylight!” 

Aldous led off in the direction of the trail. MacDonald 
followed close behind him. It was dark — that almost 
ebon-black hour that precedes summer dawn in the 
187 


138 


THE HUNTED WOMAN 


northern mountains. The moon had long ago disap* 
peared in the west. When a few minutes later they 
paused in the little opening on the trail Aldous could just 
make out the shadowy form of the old mountaineer. 

‘T lost my gun when I jumped through the window, 
Mac/’ he explained. ‘‘There’s another thirty-eight auto- 
matic in my kit at the corral. Bring that, and the .303 
with the gold-bead sight — and plenty of ammunition. 
You’d better take that forty-four hip-cannon of yours 
along, as well as your rifle. Wish I could civilize you, 
Mac, so you’d carry one of the Savage automatics instead 
of that old brain-storm of fifty years ago!” 

MacDonald gave a grunt of disgust that was like the 
whoof of a bear. 

“It’s done business all that time,” he growled good 
humouredly. “An’ it ain’t ever made me jump through 
any window as I remember of, Johnny!” 

“Enough,” said Aldous, and in the gloom he gripped 
the other’s hand. “You’ll be there, Mac — ^in front of the 
Blacktons’ — ^just as it’s growing light.^” 

“That means in three quarters of an hour, Johnny, 
I’ll be there. Three saddle-horses and a pack.” 

Where the trail divided they separated. Aldous went 
directly to the Blacktons’. As he had expected, the 
bungalow was alight. In the kitchen he saw Tom, the 
Oriental cook, busy preparing breakfast. Blackton him- 
self, comfortably dressed in duck trousers and a smoking- 
jacket, and puflBng on a pipe, opened the front door for 
him. The pipe almost fell from his mouth when he saw 
his friend’s excoriated face. 

“What in the name of Heaven!” he gasped. 


THE HUNTED WOMAN 


139 


**An accident,” explained Aldous, with a suggestive 
fihnig of his shoulders. “Blackton, I want you to do me 
another good turn. Tell the ladies anything you can 
think of — something reasonable. The truth is, I went 
through a window — sl window with plenty of glass in it. 
Now how the deuce can I explain going through a window 
like a gentleman?” 

With folded arms, Blackton inspected him thoughtfully 
for a moment. 

“You can’t,” he said. “But I don’t think you went 
through a window. I believe you fell over a cliflF and were 
caught in an armful of wait-a-bit bushes. They’re devil- 
ish those wait-a-bits!” 

They shook hands. 

“I’m ready to blow up with curiosity again,” said 
Blackton. “But I’ll play your game, Aldous.” 

A few minutes later Joanne and Peggy Blackton joined 
them. He saw again the quick flush of pleasure in 
Joanne’s lovely face when she entered the room. It 
changed instantly when she saw the livid cuts in his skin. 
She came to him quickly, and gave him her hand. Her 
lips trembled, but she did not speak. Blackton accepted 
this as the psychological moment. 

“What do you think of a man who’ll wander off a 
trail, tumble over a ledge, and get mixed up in a 
bunch of wait-a-bit like that?'' he demanded, laughing 
as though he thought it a mighty good joke on Aldous. 
“Wait-a-bit thorns are worse than razors. Miss Gray,” he 
elucidated further. “They’re — ^they’re perfectly devilish^ 
you know!” 

“Indeed they are,” emphasized Peggy Blackton, whom 


140 


THE HUNTED WOMAN 


her husband had given a quick look and a quicker nudgow 

They ’re dreadful ! ” 

Looking straight into Joanne’s eyes, Aldous guessed 
that she did not believe, and scarcely heard, the Blacktons. 

“I had a presentiment something was going to happen,” 
she said, smiling at him. “I’m glad it was no worse than 
that.” 

She withdrew her hand, and turned to Peggy Blackton. 
To John’s delight she had arranged lier wonderful shining 
hair in a braid that rippled in a thick, sinuous rope of 
brown and gold below her hips. Peggy Blackton had in 
some way found a riding outfit for her slender figure, a 
typical mountain outfit, with short divided skirt, loose 
blouse, and leggings. She had never looked more beautiful 
to him. Her night’s rest had restored the colour to her 
soft cheeks and curved lips; and in her eyes, when she 
looked at him again, there was a strange, glowing light 
that thrilled him. During the next half-hour he almost 
forgot his telltale disfigurements. At breakfast Paul and 
Peggy Blackton were beautifully oblivious of them. 
Once or twice he saw in Joanne’s clear eyes a look which 
made him suspect that she had guessed very near to the 
truth. 

MacDonald was prompt to the minute. Gray day, with 
its bars of golden tint, was just creeping over the shoulders 
of the eastern mountains when he rode up to the Black- 
tons’. The old hunter was standing close to the horse 
which Joanne was to ride when Aldous brought her out. 
Joanne gave him her hand, and for a moment MacDonald 
bowed his shaggy head over it. Five minutes later they 
were trailing up the rough wagon-road, MacDonald in the 


THE HUNTED WOMAN 141 

iead, and Joanne and Aldous behind^ with the single pack- 
horse between. 

For several miles this wagon-trail reached back through 
the thick timber that filled the bottom between the two 
ranges of mountains. They had travelled but a short 
distance when Joanne drew her horse close in beside Aldous. 

“I want to know what happened last night,” she said. 
*‘Will you tell me?” 

Aldous met her eyes frankly. He had made up his 
mind that she would believe only the truth, and he had 
decided to tell her at least a part of that. He would lay 
his whole misadventme to the gold. Leaning over the 
pommel of his saddle he recounted the occurrences of the 
night before, beginning with his search for Quade and the 
half-breed, and his experience with the woman who rode 
the bear. He left out nothing — except all mention of 
herself. He described the events lightly, not omitting 
those parts which appealed to him as being very near to 
comedy. 

In spite of his effort to rob the affair of its serious aspect 
bis recital had a decided effect upon Joanne. For some 
time after he had finished one of her small gloved hands 
clutched tightly at the pommel of her saddle; her breath 
came more quickly; the colour had ebbed from her cheeks, 
and she looked straight ahead, keeping her eyes from 
meeting his. He began to believe that in some way she 
was convinced he had not told her the whole truth, and 
was possibly displeased, when she again tinned her face 
to him. It was tense and white. In it was the fear 
which, for a few minutes, she had tried to keep from him. 

“They would have killed you?” she breathed. 


142 


THE HUNTED WOMAN 


Perhaps they would only have given me a good scare,” 
said Aldous. *‘But I didn’t have time to wait and find 
out. I was very anxious to see MacDonald again. So I 
went through the window!” 

‘‘No, they would have killed you,” said Joanne. “Per- 
haps I did wrong, Mr. Aldous, but I confided — a little — ^in 
Peggy Blackton last night. She seemed like a sister. I 
love her. And I wanted to confide in some one — a 
woman, like her. It wasn’t much, but I told her what 
happened at Miette: about you, and Quade, and how I 
saw him at the station, and again — slater, following us. 
And then — she told me! Perhaps she didn’t know how 
it was frightening me, but she told me all about these 
men — Quade and Culver Rann. And now I’m more afraid 
of Culver Rann than Quade, and I’ve never seen him. 
They can’t hurt me. But I’m afraid for you!” 

At her words a joy that was like the heat of a fire leaped 
into his brain. 

“For me?” he said. “Afraid — ^for me?” 

“Yes. Why shouldn’t I be, if I know that you are in 
danger?” she asked quietly. “And now, since last night, 
and the discovery of your secret by these men, I am terri- 
fied. Quade has followed you here. Mrs. Blackton told 
me that Culver Rann was many times more dangerous 
than Quade. Only a little while ago you told me you 
did not care for riches. Then why do you go for this gold? 
Why do you rim the risk? Why ” 

He waited. The colour was flooding back into her face 
in an excited, feverish flush. Her blue eyes were dark as 
thunder-clouds in their earnestness. 

“Don’t you understand?” she went on. “It was 


THE HUNTED WOMAN 


14S 


because of me that you incurred this deadly enmity of 
Quade’s. If anything happens to you, I shall hold myself 
responsible!’^ 

*‘No, you will not be responsible,” replied Aldous, 
steadying the tremble in his voice. ‘‘Besides, nothing is 
going to happen. But you don’t know how happy you 
have made me by taking this sort of an interest in me. 
It — it feels good,” he laughed. 

For a few paces he dropped behind her, where the over- 
head spruce boughs left but the space for a single rider 
between. Then, again, he drew up close beside her. 

“I was going to tell you about this gold,” he said. “It 
isn’t the gold we’re going after.” 

He leaned over until his hand rested on her saddle-bow, 

“Look ahead,” he went on, a curious softness in his 
voice. “ Look at MacDonald ! ” 

The fii'st shattered rays of the sun were breaking over 
the moimtains and reflecting their glow in the valley. 
Donald MacDonald had lifted his face to the sunrise; out 
from under his battered hat the morning breeze sweeping 
through the valley of the Frazer tossed his shaggy hair; 
his great owl-gray beard swept his breast; his broad, gaunt 
shoulders were hunched a little forward as he looked into 
the east. Again Aldous looked into Joanne’s eyes. 

“It’s not the gold, but MacDonald, that’s taking me 
north, Ladygray. And it’s not the gold that is taking 
MacDonald. It is strange, almost imbelievedly strange — 
what I am going to tell you. To-day we are seeking a 
grave — ^for you. And up there, two hundred miles in the 
north, another grave is calling MacDonald. I am going 
with him. It just happens that the gold is there. You 


144 


THE HUNTED WOMAN 


wouldn’t guess that for more than forty years that blessed 
old wanderer ahead of us has loved a dead woman, would 
you? You wouldn’t think that for nearly half a century, 
year in and year out, winter and summer alike, he has 
tramped the northern mountains — a lost spirit with but 
one desire in life — to find at last her resting-place? And 
yet it is so, Ladygray. I guess I am the only living 
creature to whom he has opened his heart in many a long 
year. A hundred times beside oiu* campfire I have 
listened to him, until at last his story seems almost to be 
a part of my own. He may be a Uttle mad, but It is a 
beautiful madness.” 

He paused. 

Yes,” whispered Joanne. ‘^Go on — ^John Aldous.” 

“It’s — ^hard to tell,” he continued. “I can’t put the 
feeling of it in words, the spirit of it, the wonder of it. 
I’ve tried to write it, and I couldn’t. Her name was Jane. 
He has never spoken of her by any other name than that, 
nnd I’ve never asked for the rest of it. They were kids 
when their two families started West over the big prairies 
in Conestoga wagons. They grew up sweethearts. Both 
of her parents, and his mother, died before they were 
married. Then, a Httle later, his father died, and they 
were alone. I can imagine what their love must have 
been. I have seen it still living in his eyes, and I have 
seen it in his strange hour-long dreams after he has talked 
of her. They were always together. He has told me 
how they roamed the mountains hand in hand in their 
hunts; how she was comrade and chum when he went 
prospecting. He has opened his lonely old heart to me — 
a great deal. He’s told me how they used to be alone 


THE HUNTED WOMAN 


145 


months at a time in the mountains, the things they used 
to do, and how she would sing for him beside their camp- 
fire at night. ^She had a voice sweet as an angel,^ I re- 
member he told me once. Then, more than forty years 
ago, came the gold-rush away up in the Stikine River 
country. They went. They joined a little party of 
twelve — ten men and two women. This party wandered 
far out of the beaten paths of the other gold-seekers. And 
at last they found gold.” 

Ahead of them Donald MacDonald had turned in his 
saddle and was looking back. For a moment Aldous 
ceased speaking. 

“Please — go on!” said Joanne. 

“They found gold,” repeated Aldous. “They found so 
much of it, Ladygray, that some of them went mad — mad 
as beasts. It was placer gold — ^loose gold, and MacDonald 
says that one day he and Jane filled their pockets with 
nuggets. Then something happened. A great storm 
came; a storm that filled the mountains with snow through 
which no living creatine as heavy as a man or a horse 
could make its way. It came a month earlier than they 
had expected, and from the beginning they were doomed. 
Their supplies were almost gone. 

“I can't tell you the horrors of the weeks and months 
that followed, as old Donald has told them to me, Joanne. 
You must imagine. Only, when you are deep in the 
mountains, and the snow comes, you are like a rat in a 
trap. So they were caught — eleven men and three women. 
They who could make their beds in sheets of yellow gold, 
but who had no food. The horses were lost in the stornu 
Two of their frozen carcasses were found and used for food* 


146 


THE HUNTED WOMAN 


Two of the men set out on snowshoes, leaving their gold 
behind, and probably died. 

*‘Then the first terrible thing happened. Two men 
quarrelled over a can of beans, and one was killed. He 
was the husband of one of the women. The next terrible 
thing happened to her — and there was a fight. On one 
side there were young Donald and the husband of the 
other woman; on the other side — the beasts. The husband 
was killed, and Donald and Jane sought refuge in the log 
cabin they had built. That night they fled, taking what 
little food they possessed, and what blankets they could 
carry. They knew they were facing death. But they 
went together, hand in hand. 

‘‘At last Donald found a great cave in the side of a 
mountain. I have a picture of that cave in my brain — 
a deep, warm cave, with a floor of soft white sand, a cave 
into which the two exhausted fugitives stumbled, still 
hand in hand, and which was home. But they found it a 
little too late. Three days later Jane died. And there is 
another picture in my brain — a picture of young Donald 
sitting there in the cave, clasping in his arms the cold form 
of the one creatme in the world that he loved; moaning 
and sobbing over her, calling upon her to come back to 
life, to open her eyes, to speak to him — until at last his 
brain cracked and he went mad. That is what happened. 
He went mad.” 

Joanne’s breath was coming brokenly through her lips. 
Unconsciously she had clasped her fingers about the hand 
Aldous rested on her pommel. 

“How long he remained in the cave with his dead. 
MacDonald has never been able to say/’ he resumed. 


THE HUNTED WOMAN 


147 


^He doesn’t know whether he buried his wife or left her 
lying on the sand floor of the cave. He doesn’t know how 
he got out of the mountains. But he did, and his mind 
came back. And since then, Joanne — ^for a matter of 
forty years — ^his life has been spent in trying to find that 
cave. All those years his search was unavailing. He 
could find no trace of the little hidden valley in which the 
treasure-seekers found their bonanza of gold. No word 
of it ever came out of the moxmtains; no other prospector 
ever stumbled upon it. Year after year Donald went into 
the North; year after year he came out as the winter set 
in, but he never gave up hope. 

‘‘Then he began spending winter as well as summer in 
that forgottm world — ^forgotten because the early gold- 
rush was over, and the old Telegraph trail was travelled 
more by wolves than men. And always, Donald has told 
me, his beloved Jane’s spirit was with him in his wander- 
ings over the mountains, her hand leading him, her voice 
whispering to him in the loneliness of the long nights. 
Think of it, Joanne! Forty years of that! Forty years 
of a strange, beautiful madness, forty years of undying 
love, of faith, of seeking and never finding! And this 
spring old Donald came almost to the end of his quest. 
He knows, now; he knows where that little treasme valley 
is hidden in the mountains, he knows where to find the 
cave!” 

“He found her — ^he foimd her?” she cried. “After aU 
those years — ^he found her?” 

“Almost,” said Aldous softly. “But the great finale in 
the tragedy of Donald MacDonald’s life is yet to come, 
Ladygray. It will come when once more he stands in the 


148 


THE HUNTED WOMAN 


soft white sand of that cavern floor, and sometimes I 
tremble when I think that when that moment comes I will 
be at his side. To me it will be terrible. To him it will 
be — ^what? That hour has not quite arrived. It hap- 
pened this way: Old Donald was coming down from the 
North on the early slush snows this spring when he came 
to a shack in which a man was almost dead of the smallpox. 
It was DeBar, the half-breed. 

“Fearlessly MacDonald nursed him. He says it was 
God who sent him to that shack. For DeBar, in his 
feverish ravings, revealed the fact that he had stumbled 
upon that little Valley of Gold for which MacDonald had 
«earched through forty years. Old Donald knew it was 
the same valley, for the half-breed raved of dead men, of 
rotting buckskin sacks of yellow nuggets, of crumbling 
log shacks, and of other things the memories of which 
stabbed like knives into Donald’s heart. How he fought 
to save that man! And, at last, he succeeded. 

“They continued south, planning to outfit and go back 
for the gold. They would have gone back at once, but 
they had no food and no horses. Foot by foot, in the 
weeks that followed, DeBar described the way to the 
hidden valley, until at last MacDonald knew that he could 
go to it as straight as an eagle to its nest. When they 
reached Tete Jaune he came to me. And I promised to go 
with him, Ladygray — ^back to the Valley of Gold. He 
calls it that; but I — I think of it as The Valley of Silent 
Men. It is not the gold, but the cavern with the soft 
white floor that is calling us.” 

In her saddle Joanne had straightened. Her head was 
thrown back, her lips were parted, and her eyes shone as 


THE HUNTED WOMAN 149 

the eyes of a Joan of Arc must have shone when she stood 
that day before the Hosts. 

“And this man, the half-breed, has sold himself — ^for a 
woman?” she said, looking straight ahead at the bent 
shoulders of old MacDonald. 

“Yes, for a woman. Do you ask me why I go now? 
Why I shall fight, if fighting there must be?” 

She turned to him. Her face was a blaze of glory. 

“No, no, no!” she cried. “Oh, John Aldous! if I were 
only a man, that I might go with you and stand with you 

two in that Holy Sepulchre — ^the Cavern If I were a 

man, I’d go — ^and, yes, I would fight!” 

And Donald MacDonald, looking back, saw the two 
clasping hands across the trail. A moment later he turned 
his horse from the broad road into a narrow trail that led 
over the range. 


CHAPTER XV 


F rom the hour in which she had Kstened to the 
story of old MacDonald a change seemed to have 
come over Joanne. It was as if she had risen out 
of herself, out of whatever fear or grief she might have 
possessed in her own heart. John Aldous knew that there 
was some deep significance in her visit to the grave under 
the Saw Tooth Mountain, and that from the beginning 
she had been fighting under a tremendous mental and 
physical strain. He had expected this day would be a 
terrible day for her; he had seen her efforts to strengthen 
herself for the approaching crisis that morning. He be- 
lieved that as they drew nearer to their journey’s end her 
suspense and uneasiness, the fear which she was trying to 
keep from him, would, in spite of her, become more and 
more evident. For these reasons the change which he saw 
in her was not only delightfully unexpected but deeply 
puzzling. She seemed to be under the influence of some 
new and absorbing excitement. Her cheeks were flushed. 
There was a different poise to her head; in her voice, too, 
there was a note which he had not noticed before. 

It struck him, all at once, that this was a new Joanne — 
a Joanne who, at least for a brief spell, had broken the 
bondage of oppression and fear that had fettered her. In 
the narrow trail up the mountain he rode behind her, and 
in this he found a pleasure even greater than when he 
150 


THE HUNTED WOMAN 


151 


rode at her side. Only when her face was turned from him 
did he dare surrender himself at all to the emotions which 
had transformed his soul. From behind he could look at 
her, and worship without fear of discovery. Every move- 
ment of her slender, graceful body gave him a new and 
exquisite thrill; every dancing light and every darkening 
shadow in her shimmering hair added to the joy that 
no fear or apprehension could overwhelm within hka 
now. Only in those wonderful moments, when her 
presence was so near, and yet her eyes did not see him, 
could he submerge himself completely in the thought 
of what she had become to him and of what she meant 
to him. 

During the first hour of their climb over the break that 
led into the valley beyond they had but little opportunity 
for conversation. The trail was an abandoned Indian 
path, narrow, and in places extremely steep. Twice AJdous 
helped Joanne from her horse that she might travel afoot 
over places which he considered dangerous. When he 
assisted her in the saddle again, after a stiff ascent of a 
hundred yards, she was panting from her exertion, and he 
felt the sweet thrill of her breath in his face. For a space 
his happiness obliterated all thoughts of other things. It 
was MacDonald who brought them back. 

They had reached the summit of the break, and through 
his long brass telescope the old mountaineer was scanning 
the valley out of which they had come. Under them lay 
T^te Jaune, gleaming in the morning sun, and it dawned 
suddenly upon AJdous that this was the spot from which 
MacDonald had spied upon his enemies. He looked at 
Joanne. She was breathing qu’ikly as she looked upon 


152 


THE HUNTED WOMAN 


the wonder of the scene below them. Suddenly she turned, 
and encountered his eyes. 

‘‘They might — ^follow?” she asked. 

He shook his head. 

“No danger of that,” he assured her. 

MacDonald had dismounted, and now he lay crouched 
behind a rock, with his telescope resting over the top of it. 
He had leaned his long rifle against the boulder; his huge 
forty-four, a relic of the old Indian days, hung at his hip^ 
Joanne saw these omens of preparedness, and her eyes 
shifted again to Aldous. His .303 swung from his saddle. 
At his waist was the heavy automatic. She smiled. In 
her eyes was understanding, and something like a challenge. 
She did not question him again, but imder her gaze Aldous 
flushed. 

A moment later MacDonald closed his telescope and 
without a word mounted his horse. Where the descent 
into the second valley began he paused again. To the 
north through the haze of the morning sun gleamed the 
snow-capped peaks of the Saw Tooth Range. Apparently 
not more than an hour’s ride distant rose a huge red 
sandstone giant which seemed to shut in the end of the 
valley. MacDonald stretched forth a long arm in its 
direction. 

“What we’re seekin’ is behind that mountain,” he said. 
*‘It’s ten miles from here.” He turned to the girl. “Are 
you gettin’ lame. Mis’ Joanne 

Aldous saw her lips tighten. 

“No. Let us go on, please.” 

She was staring fixedly at the sombre red mass of the 
mountain. Her eyes did not take in the magnificent 


THE HUNTED WOMAN 


153 


sweep of the valley below. They saw nothing of the snow-r 
capped peaks beyond. There was something wild and 
unnatural in their steady gaze. Aldous dropped behind 
her as they began the gradual descent from the crest of the 
break and his own heart began to beat more apprehen- 
sively; the old question flashed back upon him, and he 
felt again the oppression that once before had held him in 
its grip. His eyes did not leave Joanne. And always she 
was staring at the mountain behind which lay the thing 
they were seeking! It was not Joanne herself that set his 
blood throbbing. Her face had not paled. Ics coloiur 
was like the hectic flush of a fever. Her eyes alone be- 
trayed her; their strange intensity — ^the almost painful 
steadiness with which they hung to the distant mountain,, 
and a dread of what was to come seized upon him. Again 
he found himself asking himself questions which he could 
not answer. Why had Joanne not confided more fully in 
him? What was the deeper significance of this visit to the 
grave, and of her mission in the mountains? 

Down the narrow Indian trail they passed into the thick 
spruce timber. Half an hour later they came out into 
the grassy creek bottom of the valley. During that time 
Joanne did not look behind her, and John Aldous did not 
speak. MacDonald turned north, and the sandstone 
mountain was straight ahead of them. It was not like 
the other mountains. There was something sinister and 
sullen about it. It was ugly and broken. No vegetation 
grew upon it, and through the haze of sunlight its barren 
sides and battlemented crags gleamed a dark and humid 
red after the morning mists, as if freshly stained with 
blood. Aldous guessed its effect upon Joanne, and he 


154 THE HUNTED WOMAN 

determined to put an end to it. Again he rode up close 
beside her. 

want you to get better acquainted with old Donald/* 
he said. “We’re sort of leaving him out in the cold, 
Ladygray. Do you mind if I tell him to come back and 
ride with you for a while?” 

“I’ve been wanting to talk with him,” she replied. “If 
you don’t mind ” 

“I don’t,” he broke in quickly. “You’ll love old 
Donald, Ladygray. And, if you can, I’d like to have you 
tell him all that you know about — ^Jane. Let him know 
that I told you.” 

She nodded. Her lips trembled in a smile. 

“I will,” she said. 

A moment later Aldous was telling MacDonald that 
Joanne wanted him. The old mountaineer stared. He 
drew his pipe from his mouth, beat out its half-burned 
contents, and thrust it into its accustomed pocket. 

“She wants to see me?” he asked. “God bless her 
soul — what for?” 

“Because she thinks you’re lonesome up here alone, 
Mac. And look here” — ^Aldous leaned over to Mac- 
Donald — “her nerves are ready to snap. I know it. 
There’s a mighty good reason why I can’t relieve the strain 
she is under. But you can. She’s thinking every minute 
of that mountain up there and the grave behind it. You 
go back, and talk. Tell her about the first time you ever 
came up through these valleys — ^you and Jane. Will you, 
Mac? Will you tell her that?” 

MacDonald did not reply, but he dropped behind. 
Aldous took up the lead. A, few minutes later he looked 


THE HUNTED WOMAN 


153 


back, and laughed softly under his breath. Joanne and 
the old hunter were riding side by side in the creek bottom, 
and Joanne was talking. He looked at his watch. He 
did not look at it again until the first gaunt, red shoulder 
of the sandstone mountain began to loom over them. 
An hour had passed since he left Joanne. Ahead of him, 
perhaps a mile distant, was the cragged spur beyond 
which — ^according to the sketch Keller had drawn for 
him at the engineers’ camp — was the rough canyon leading 
back to the basin on the far side of the mountain. He had 
almost reached this when MacDonald rode up. 

*‘You go back, Johnny/’ he said, a singular softness in 
his hollow voice. ‘‘We’re a’most there.” 

He cast his eyes over the western peaks, where dark 
clouds were shouldering their way up in the face of the sun, 
and added: 

“There’s rain in that. I’ll trot on ahead with Pinto 
ind have a tent ready when you come. I reckon it can’t 
be more’n a mile up the canyon.” 

“And the grave, Mac?” 

“Is right close to where I’ll pitch the tent,” said Mac- 
Donald, swinging suddenly behind the pack-horse Pinto, 
and urging him into a trot. “Don’t waste any time> 
Johnny.” 

Aldous rode back to Joanne. 

“It looks like rain,” he explained. “These Pacific 
showers come up quickly this side of the Divide, and th^ 
drench you in a jiffy. Donald is going on ahead to put 
up a tent.” 

By the time they reached the mouth of the canyon 
MacDonald was out of sight. A little creek that was n 


156 


THE HUNTED WOMAN 


swollen torrent in spring time trickled out of the gorge. 
Its channel was choked with a chaotic confusion of sand- 
stone rock and broken slate, and up through this Aldous 
carefully picked his way, followed closely by Joanne. The 
sky continued to darken above them, until at last the sun 
died out, and a thick and almost palpable gloom began to 
envelop them. Low thunder rolled through the mountains 
in sullen, rumbling echoes. He looked back at Joanne, 
and was amazed to see her eyes shining, and a smile on 
her lips as she nodded at him. 

‘‘It makes me think of Henrik Hudson and his ten-pin 
players,” she called softly. “And ahead of us — ^is Rip 
Van Winkle!” 

The first big drops were beginning to faU when they 
camfe to an open place. The gorge swung to the right; on 
their left the rocks gave place to a rolling meadow of 
buffalo grass, and Aldous knew they had reached the 
basin. A hundred yards up the sloi)e was a fringe of 
timber, and as he looked he saw smoke rising out of this. 
The sound of MacDonald's axe came to them. He turned 
to Joanne, and he saw that she understood. They were 
at their journey’s end. Perhaps her fingers gripped her 
rein a little more tightly. Perhaps it was imagination that 
made him think there was a slight tremble in her voice 
when she said: 

“This — is the place?” 

“Yes. It should be just above the timber. I believe 
I can see the upper break of the little box canyon Keller 
told me about.” 

She rode without speaking until they entered the timber. 
They were just in time. As he lifted her down from her 


THE HUNTED WOMAN 


157 


Aorse the clouds opened, and the rain fell in a deluge. Hef 
hair was wet when he got her in the tent. MacDonald 
had spread out a number of blankets, but he had disap- 
peared. Joanne sank down upon them with a little shiver. 
She looked up at Aldous. It was almost dark in the tent, 
and her eyes were glowing strangely. Over them the 
thimder crashed deafeningly. For a few minutes it was a 
continual roar, shaking the mountains with mighty rever- 
berations that were like the explosions of giant guns. 
Aldous stood holding the untied flap against the beat of 
the rain. Twice he saw Joanne’s hps form words. At 
last he heard her say: 

‘‘Where is Donald?” 

He tied the flap, and dropped down on the edge of the 
blankets before he answered her. 

“Probably out in the open watching the lightning, and 
letting the rain drench him,” he said. “I’ve never known 
old Donald to come in out of a rain, unless it was cold. 
He was tying up the horses when I ran in here with 
lyou.” 

He believed she was shivering, yet he knew she was not 
cold. In the half gloom of the tent he wanted to reach 
over and take her hand. 

For a few minutes longer there was no break in the 
steady downpour and the crashing of the thunder. Then, 
as suddenly as the storm had broken, it began to subside. 
Aldous rose and flung back the tent-flap. 

“It is almost over,” he said. “You had better remain 
in the tent a little longer, Ladygray. I will go out 
and see if MacDonald has succeeded in drowning him- 
self.” 


153 


THE HUNTED WOMAN 


Joanne did not answer, and Aldous stepped outside. 
He knew where to find the old hunter. He had gone up 
to the end of the timber, and probably this minute was in 
the little box canyon searching for the grave. It was a 
matter of less than a hundred yards to the upper fringe of 
timber, and when Aldous came out of this he stood on the 
summit of the grassy divide that separated the tiny lake 
Keller had described from the canyon. It was less than a 
rifle shot distant, and on the farther side of it MacDonald 
was already returning. Aldous hurried down to meet him. 
He did not speak when they met, but his companion 
answered the question in his eyes, while the water dripped 
in streams from his drenched hair and beard. 

“It’s there,” he said, pointing back. “Just behind that 
big black rock. There’s a slab over it, an’ you’ve got the 
name right. It’s Mortimer FitzHugh.” 

Above them the clouds were splitting asunder. A shaft 
of sunlight broke through, and as they stood looking over 
the little lake the shaft broadened, and the sim swept in 
golden triumph over the mountains. MacDonald beat 
his limp hat against his knee, and with his other hand 
drained the water from his beard, 

“What you goin’ to do?” he asked. 

Aldous turned toward the timber. Joanne hersell 
answered the question. She was coming up the slope. 
In a few moments she stood beside them. First she looked 
down upon the lake. Then her eyes turned to Aldous. 
There was no need for speech. He held out his hand, and 
without hesitation she gave him her own. MacDonald 
understood. He walked down ahead of them toward the 
black rock. When he came to the rock he paused. Aldous 


THE HUNTED WOMAN 159 

and Joanne passed him. Then they, too, stopped, and 
Aldous freed the girl’s hand. 

With an unexpectedness that was startling they had 
come upon the grave. Yet not a sound escaped Joanne’s 
lips. Aldous could not see that she was breathing. Less 
than ten paces from them was the mound, protected by its 
cairn of stones; and over the stones rose a weather-stained 
slab in the form of a cross. One glance at the gravel 
and Aldous riveted his eyes upon Joanne. For a full 
minute she stood as motionless as though the last breath 
had left her body. Then, slowly, she advanced. He could 
not see her face. He followed, quietly, step by step as 
she moved. For another minute she leaned over the slab, 
making out the fine-seared letters of the name. Her body 
was bent forward; her two hands were clenched tightly at 
her side. Even more slowly than she had advanced she 
turned toward Aldous and MacDonald. Her face was 
dead white. She hfted her hands to her breast, and 
clenched them there. 

‘‘It is his name,” she said, and there was something 
repressed and terrible in her low voice. “It is his 
name!” 

She was looking straight into the eyes of John Aldous, 
and he saw that she was fighting to say something which 
she had not spoken. Suddenly she came to him, and her 
two hands caught his arm. 

“It is terrible — ^what I am going to ask of you,” she 
struggled. “You will think I am a ghoul. But I must 
have proof! I must — I must!” 

She was staring wildly at him, and all at once there 
leapt fiercely through him a dawning of the truth. ITie 


160 


THE HUNTED WOMAN 


name was there, seared by hot iron in that slab of wood. 
The name! But under the cairn of stones 

Behind them MacDonald had heard. He towered 
beside them now. His great mountain-twisted hands drew 
Joanne a step back, and strange gentleness was in his 
voice as he said: 

“You an’ Johnny go back an’ build a fire. Mis’ Joanne. 
I’ll find the proof!” 

“Come,” said Aldous, and he held out his hand again. 

MacDonald hurried on ahead of them. When they 
reached the camp he was gone, so that Joanne did not see 
the pick and shovel which he carried back. She went 
into the tent and Aldous began building a fire where Mac- 
Donald’s had been drowned out. There was little reason 
for a fire; but he built it, and for fifteen minutes added 
pitch-heavy fagots of storm-killed jack-pine and spruce to 
it, until the flames leapt a dozen feet into the air. Half a 
dozen times he was impelled to return to the grave and 
assist MacDonald in his gruesome task. But he knew 
that MacDonald had meant that he should stay with 
Joanne. If he returned, she might follow. 

He was surprised at the quickness with which Mac- 
Donald performed his work. Not more than half an hour 
had passed when a low whistle drew his eyes to a clump of 
dwarf spruce back in the timber. The mountaineer was 
standing there, holding something in his hand. With a 
backward glance to see that Joanne had not come from 
the tent, Aldous hastened to him. What he could see of 
MacDonald’s face was the lifeless colour of gray ash. His 
eyes stared as if he had suffered a strange and unexpected 
shock. He went to speak, but no words came through hi» 


THE HUNTED WOMAN 161 

beard. In his hand he held his faded red neck-handker-' 
chief. He gave it to Aldous. 

“It wasn’t deep,” he said. “It was shallow, turribly 
shallow, Johnny — ^just under the stone!” 

His voice was husky and unnatural. 

There was something heavy in the handkerchief, and a 
shudder passed through Aldous as he placed it on the palm 
of his hand and unveiled its contents. He could not 
repress an exclamation when he saw what MacDonald had 
brought. In his hand, with a single thickness of the wet 
handkerchief between the objects and his flesh, lay a watch 
and a ring. The watch was of gold. It was tarnished, 
but he could see there were initials, which he could not 
make out, engraved on the back of the case. The ring, 
too, was of gold. It was one of the most gruesome orna- 
ments Aldous had ever seen. It was in the form of a coiled 
and writhing serpent, wide enough to cover half of one’s 
middle finger between the joints. Again the eyes of the 
two men met, and again Aldous observed that strange, 
stunned look in the old hunter’s face. He turned and 
walked back toward the tent, MacDonald following him 
slowly, still staring, his long gaunt arms and hands hanging 
limply at his side. 

Joanne heard them, and came out of the tent. A chok^ 
ing cry fell from her lips when she saw MacDonald. For 
a moment one of her hands clutched at the wet canvas 
of the tent, and then she swayed forward, knowing what 
John Aldous had in his hand. He stood voiceless while 
she looked. In that tense half-minute when she stared 
at the objects he held it seemed to him that her heart- 
rtrings must snap under the strain. Then she drew bade 


162 


THE HUNTED WOMAN 


from them, her eyes filled with horror, her hands raised as 
if to shut out the sight of them, and a panting, sobbing cry 
broke from between her pallid lips. 

‘‘Oh, my God!” she breathed. “Take them away — 
take them away!” 

She staggered back to the tent, and stood there with her 
hands covering her face. Aldous turned to the old hunter 
and gave him the things he held. 

A moment later he stood alone where the three had been, 
staring now as Joanne had stared, his heart beating wildly. 

For Joanne, in entering the tent, had uncovered her 
face; it was not grief that he saw there, but the soul of a 
woman new-born. And as his own soul responded in a 
wild rejoicing, MacDonald, going over the summit and 
down into the hollow, mumbled in his beard; 

“ God ha’ mercy on me ! I’m doin’ it for her an’ Johnny, 
an’ because she’s like my Jane!” 


CHAPTER XVI 


P LUNGED from one extreme of mental strain to 
another excitement that was as acute in its opposite 
effect, John Aldous stood and stared at the tent-flap 
that had dropped behind Joanne. Only a flash he had 
caught of her face; but in that flash he had seen the living, 
quivering joyousness of freedom blazing where a moment 
before there had been only horror and fear. As if ashamed 
of her own betrayal, Joanne had darted into the tent. She 
had answered his question a thousand times more effec- 
tively than if she had remained to tell him with her lips 
that MacDonald’s proofs were sufficient — that the grave 
in the little box canyon had not disappointed her. She 
had recognized the ring and the watch; from them she had 
shrank in horror, as if fearing that the golden serpent 
might suddenly leap into life and strike. 

In spite of the mightiest efforts she might have made 
for self-control Aldous had seen in her tense and tortured 
face a look that was more than either dread or shock — it 
was abhorrence, hatred. And his last glimpse of her face 
had revealed those things gone, and in them place the 
strange joy she had run into the tent to hide. That she 
should rejoice over the dead, or that the grim relics from 
the grave should bring that new dawn into her face and 
eyes, did not strike him as shocking. In Joanne his sun 
had already begun to rise and set. He had come to under- 


164 


THE HUNTED WOMAN 


stand that for her the grave must hold its dead; that the 
fact of death, death under the slab that bore Mortimer 
FitzHugh’s name, meant life for her, just as it meant life 
and all things for him. He had prayed for it, even while 
he dreaded that it might not be. In him all things were 
now submerged in the wild thought that Joanne was free, 
and the grave had been the key to her freedom. 

A calmness began to possess him that was in singular 
contrast to the pertmbed condition of his mind a few 
minutes before. From this hour Joanne was his to fight 
for, to win if he could; and, knowing this, his soul rose in 
triumph above his first physical exultation, and he fought 
back the almost irresistible impulse to follow her into the 
tent and tell her what this day had meant for him. Fol- 
lowing this came swiftly a realization of what it had meant 
for her — the suspense, the terrific strain, the final shock 
and gruesome horror of it. He was sure, without seeing, 
that she was huddled down on the blankets in the tent. 
She had passed through an ordeal under which a strong 
man might have broken, and the picture he had of her 
struggle in there alone turned him from the tent filled with 
a determination to make her believe that the events of the 
morning, both with him and MacDonald, were easily for- 
gotten. 

He began to whistle as he threw back the wet canvas 
from over the camp outfit that had been taken from Pinto’s 
back. In one of the two cow-hide panniers he saw that 
thoughtful old Donald had packed materials for their 
dinner, as well as utensils necessary for its preparation. 
That dinner they would have in the valley, well beyond 
the red mountain. He began to repack, whistling cheerily. 


THE HUNTED WOMAN 165 

He was still whistling when MacDonald retiu*ned. He 
broke off sharply when he saw the other’s face. 

‘‘What’s the matter, Mac?” he asked. “You sick?’® 

“It weren’t pleasant, Johnny.” 

Aldous nodded toward the tent. 

“It was — beastly,” he whispered. “But we can’t let 
her feel that way about it, Mac. Cheer up — and let’s get 
out of this place. We’ll have dinner somewhere over in 
the valley.” 

They continued packing until only the tent remained 
to be placed on Pinto’s back. AJdous resumed his loud 
whistling as he tightened up the saddle-girths, and killed 
time in half a dozen other ways. A quarter of an hour 
passed. Still Joanne did not appear. Aldous scratched 
his head dubiously, and looked at the tent. 

“I don’t want to disturb her, Mac,” he said in a low 
voice. “Let’s keep up the bluff of being busy. We can 
put out the fire.” 

Ten minutes later, sweating and considerably smoke- 
grimed, Aldous again looked toward the tent. 

“We might cut down a few trees,” suggested MacDon- 
ald. 

“Or play leap-frog,” added Aldous. 

“The trees ’d sound more natcherel,” said MacDonald. 
^We could tell her ” 

A stick snapped behind them. Both turned at the 
«ame instant. Joanne stood facing them not ten feet 
away. 

“Great ^ottS” gasped Aldous. “Joanne, I thought 
you were in the tent!” 

The beautiful calmness in Joanne’s face amazed 


166 


THE HUNTED WOMAN . 


He stared at her as he spoke, forgetting altogether the 
manner in which he had intended to greet her when she 
came from the tent. 

‘‘I went out the back way — ^lifted the canvas and 
crawled under just like a boy,” she explained. ‘^And IVc 
walked imtil my feet are wet.” 

‘‘And the fire is out!” 

“I don’t mind wet feet,” she hurried to assure him. 

Old Donald was already at work pulling the tent-pegs. 
Joanne came close to Aldous, and he saw again that deep 
and wonderful light in her eyes. This time he knew that 
she meant he should see it, and words which he had de- 
termined not to speak fell softly from his lips. 

“You are no longer afraid, Ladygray? That which 
you dreaded ” 

“ Is dead,” she said. “And you, John Aldous? Without 
knowing, seeing me only as you have seeu me, do you 
think that I am terrible?” 

“No, I could not think that.” 

Her hand touched his arm. 

“Will you go out there with me, in the sunlight, where 
we can look down upon the little lake? ” she asked. “UntiS 
to-day I had made up my mind that no one but myself 
would ever know the truth. But you have been good to 
me, and I must tell you — about myself — about hini.” 

He found no answer. He left no word with MacDonald. 
Until they stood on the grassy knoll, with the lakelet shim- 
mering in the simlight below them, Joanne herself did not 
speak again. Then, with a httle gesture, she said: 

“Perhaps you think what is down thare is dreadful to 
me. It isn’t. I shall always remember that little lake. 


THE HUNTED WOMAN 


167 


almost as Donald remembers the cavern — ^not because it 
watches over something I love, but because it guards a 
thing that in life would have destroyed me! I know how 
you must feel, John Aldous — that deep down in yoiu* heart 
you must wonder at a woman who can rejoice in the death 
of another hiunan creature. Yet death, and death alone, 
has been the key from bondage of millions of souls that 
have lived before mine; and there are men — men, too — 
whose lives have been warped and destroyed because 
death did not come to save them. One was my father. 
If death had come for him, if it had taken my mother, that 
down there would never have happened — ^for me!’* 

She spoke the terrible words so quietly, so calmly, that 
it was impossible for him entirely to conceal their effect 
upon him. There was a bit of pathos in her smile. 

“My mother drove my father mad,” she went on, with 
a simple directness that was the most wonderful thing he 
had ever heard come from human lips. “The world did 
not know that he was mad. It called him eccentric. But 
he was mad — ^in just one way. I was nine years old when 
it happened, and I can remember our home most vividly. 
It was a beautiful home. And my father! Need I tell 
you that I worshipped him — that to me he was king of all 
men? And as deeply as I loved him, so^ in another way, 
he worshipped my mother. She was beautiful. In a 
curious sort of way I used to wonder, as a child, how it 
was possible for a woman to be so beautiful. It was a 
dark beauty — a recmrence of French strain in her English 
blood. 

“One day I overheard my father tell her that, if she died, 
he would kill himself. He was not of the passionate. 


168 


THE HUNTED WOMAN 


over-sentimental kind; he was a philosopher, a scientist, 
calm and self-contained — and I remembered those words 
later, when I had outgrown childhood, as one of a hundred 
proofs of how devoutly he had loved her. It was more 
than love, I believe. It was adoration. I was nine, I say, 
when things happened. Another man, a divorce, and on 
the day of the divorce this woman, my mother, married 
her lover. Somewhere in my father’s brain a single thread 
snapped, and from that day he was mad — mad on but one 
subject; and so deep and intense was his madness that it 
became a part of me as the years passed, and to-day I, too, 
am possessed of that madness. And it is the one greatest 
thing in the world that I am proud of, John Aldous!” 

Not once had her voice betrayed excitement or emotion. 
Not once had it risen above its normal tone; and in her 
eyes, as they turned from the lake to him, there was the 
tranquillity of a child. 

‘‘And that madness,” she resumed, “was the madness 
of a man whose brain and soul were overwrought in one 
colossal hatred — sl hatred of divorce and the laws that 
made it possible. It was born in him in a day, and it 
lived imtil his death. It turned him from the paths of men, 
and we became wanderers upon the face of the earth. 
Two years after the ruin of our home my mother and the 
man she had married died in a ship that was lost at sea. 
This had no effect upon my father. Possibly you will not 
understand what grew up between us in the years and 
years that followed. To the end he was a scientist, a 
man seeking after the unknown, and my education came 
to be a composite of teachings gathered in all parts of the 
world. We were never apart. We were more than father 


THE HUNTED WOMAN 169 

tind daughter; we were friends, comrades — ^he was my 
world, and I was his. 

“I recall, as I became older, how his hatred of that thing 
that had broken our home developed more and more 
strongly in me. His mind was titanic. A thousand times 
I pleaded with him to employ it in the great fight I wanted 
him to make — a fight against the crime divorce. I know, 
now, why he did not. He was thinking of me. Only one 
thing he asked of me. It was more than a request. It 
was a command. And this command, and my promise, 
was that so long as I lived — no matter what might happen 
in my life — ^I would sacrifice myself body and soul sooner 
than allow that black monster of divorce to fasten its 
clutches on me. It is futile for me to tell you these 
things, John Aldous. It is impossible — ^you cannot under- 
stand!” 

I can,” he replied, scarcely above a whisper. ‘‘ Joanne, 
I begin — ^to understand!” 

And still without emotion, her voice as calm as the un- 
ruffled lake at their feet, she continued: 

*‘It grew in me. It is a part of me now. I hate divorce 
as I hate the worst sin that bars one from Heaven. It is 
the one thing I hate. And it is because of this hatred that 
I suffered myself to remain the wife of the man whose 
name is over that grave down there — Mortimer FitzHugh. 
It came about strangely — ^what I am going to tell you 
now. You will wonder. You will think I was insane. 
But remember, John Aldous — ^the world had come to hold 
but one friend and comrade for me, and he was my father. 
It was after Mindano. He caught the fever, and he was 
dying.” 


170 


THE HUNTED WOMAN 


For the first time her breath choked her. It was only 
for an instant. She recovered herself, and went on: 

“Out of the world my father had left he had kept one 
friend — ^Richard FitzHugh; and this man, with his son, 
was with us during those terrible days of fever. I met 
Mortimer as I had met a thousand other men. His father, 
I thought, was the soul of honour, and I accepted the son 
as such. We were much together during those two weeks 
of my despair, and he seemed to be attentive and kind. 
Then came the end. My father was dying. And I — I 
was ready to die. In his last moments his one thought 
was of me. He knew I was alone, and the fear of it 
terrified him. I believe he did not realize then what he 
was asking of me. He pleaded with me to marry the son 
of his old friend before he died. And I — ^John Aldous, I 
could not fight his last wish as he lay dying before my 
eyes. We were married there at his bedside. He joined 
our hands. And the words he whispered to me last of all 
were: ‘Remember — ^Joanne — ^thy promise and thine hon- 
our!’” 

For a moment Joanne stood facing the little lake, and 
when she spoke again there was a note of thankfulness, of 
subdued joy and triumph, in her voice. 

“Before that day had ended I had displeased Mortimer 
FitzHugh,” she said, and Aldous saw the fingers of her 
hands close tightly. “I told him that until a month had 
passed I would not live with him as a wife lives with her 
husband. And he was displeased. And my father was 
not yet buried! I was shocked. My soul revolted. 

“We went to London and I was made welcome in the 
older FitzHugh’s wifeless home, and the papers told of our 


THE HUNTED WOMAN 


171 


iredding. And two days later there came from Devon- 
shire a woman — a sweet-faced little woman with sick» 
haunted eyes; in her arms she brought a baby; and that 
baby was Mortimer FitzHugh^s ! 

‘‘We confronted him — ^the mother, the baby, and I; and 
then I knew that he was a fiend. And the father was a 
fiend. They offered to buy the woman off, to support 
her and the child. They told me that many English 
gentlemen had made mistakes like this, and that it was 
nothing — that it was quite common. Mortimer FitzHugh 
had never touched me with his lips, and now, when he 
came to touch me with his hands, I struck him. It was 
a serpent’s house, and I left it. 

“My father had left me a comfortable fortune, and I 
went into a house of my own. Day after day they came to 
tne, and I knew that they feared I was going to secure a 
divorce. During the six months that followed I learned 
other things about the man who was legally my husband. 
He was everything that was vile. Brazenly he went into 
public places with women of dishonour, and I hid my face 
in shame. 

“His father died, and for a time Mortimer FitzHugh 
became one of the talked-about spendthrifts of London. 
Swiftly he gambled and dissipated himself into compara- 
tive poverty. And now, learning that I would not get a 
divorce, he began to regard me as a slave in chains, f 
remember, one time, that he succeeded in laying his hands 
on me, and they were like the touch of things that were 
slimy and poisonous. He laughed at my revulsion. He 
demanded money of me, and to keep him away from me 
I gave it to him. Again and again he came for money; 


THE HUNTED WOMAN 


I suffered as I cannot tell you, but never once in my 
misery did I weaken in my promise to my father and to 
myself. But — at last — I ran away. 

‘‘I went to Egypt, and then to India. A year later I 
learned that Mortimer FitzHugh had gone to America, 
and I rc^irned to London. For two years I heard nothing 
of him; but day and night I lived in fear and dread. And 
then came the news that he had died, as you read in the 
newspaper clipping. I was free! For a year I believed 
that; and then, like a shock that had come to destroy me, 
I was told that he was not dead but that he was alive, and 
in a place called Tete Jaune Cache, in British Columbia. 
I could not live in the terrible suspense that followed. I 
determined to find out for myself if he was alive or dead 
And so I came, John Aldous. And he is dead. He is 
down there — dead. And I am glad that he is dead!” 

And if he was not dead,” said Aldous quietly, "‘I would 
lillhim!” 

He could find nothing more to say than that. He dared 
trust himself no further, and in silence he held out his 
hands, and for a moment Joanne gave him her own. 
Then she withdrew them, and with a little gesture, and the 
smile which he loved to see trembling about her mouth, 
she said: 

^‘Donald will think this is scandalous. We must go 
back and apologize!” 

She led him down the slope, and her face was filled with 
the pink fiush of a wild rose when she ran up to Donald, 
and asked him to help her into her saddle. John Aldous 
rode like one in a dream as they went back into the valley, 
for with each minute that passed Joanne seemed more and. 


THE HUNTED WOMAN 


173 


more to him like a beautiful bird that had escaped from 
its prison-cage, and in him mind and soul were absorbed 
in the wonder of it and in his own rejoicing. She was free, 
and in her freedom she was happy! 

Free! It was that thought that pounded steadily in 
his brain. He forgot Quade, and Culver Rann, and the 
gold; he forgot his own danger, his own work, almost hia 
own existence. Of a sudden the world had become im 
finitesimally small for him, and all he could see was the 
soft shimmer of Joanne’s hair in the sun, the wonder of 
her face, the marvellous blue of her eyes — and all he could 
hear was the sweet thrill of her voice when she spoke to 
him or old Donald, and when, now and then, soft laughter 
trembled on her lips in the sheer joy of the life that had 
dawned anew for her this day. 

They stopped for dinner, and then went on over the 
range and down into the valley where lay Tete Jaune. 
And all this time he fought to keep from flaming in his 
own face the desire that was like a hot fire within him — the 
desire to go to Joanne and tell her that he loved her as he 
had never dreamed it possible for love to exist in the whole 
wide world. He knew that to surrender to that desire in 
this hour would be something like sacrilege. He did not 
guess that Joanne saw his struggle, that even old MacDonald 
mumbled low words in his beard. When they came at last 
to Blackton’s bungalow he thought that he had kept this 
thing from her, and he did not see — and would not have 
understood if he had seen — ^the wonderful and mysterious 
glow in Joanne’s eyes when she kissed Peggy Blackton. 

Blackton had come in from the work-end, dust-covered 
and jubilant. 


174 


THE HUNTED WOMAN 


glad you folks have returned,” he cried, beaming 
with enthusiasm as he gripped Aldous by the hand. *‘The 
last rock is packed, and to-night we^re going to shake the 
earth. We’re going to blow up Coyote Number Twenty- 
seven, and you won’t forget the sight as long as you 
live!” 

Not until Joanne had disappeared into the house with 
Peggy Blackton did Aldous feel that he had descended 
firmly upon his feet once more into a matter-of-fact world 
MacDonald was waiting with the horses, and Blackton 
was pointing over toward the steel workers, and was saying 
something about ten thousand pounds of black powder 
and dynamite and a mountain that had stood a million 
years and was going to be blown up that night. 

**It’s the best bit of work I’ve ever done, Aldous — ^that 
and Coyote Number Twenty-eight. Peggy was going to 
touch the electric button to Twenty-seven to-night, but 
we’ve decided to let Miss Gray do that, and Peggy’U fire 
Twenty-eight to-morrow night. Twenty-eight is almost 
ready. If you say so, the bunch of us will go over and 
see it in the morning. Mebby Miss Gray would like to 
see for herself that a coyote isn’t only an animal with a 
bushy tail, but a cavern dug into rock an’ filled with 
enough explosives to play high jinks with all the navies in 
the world if they happened to be on hand at the time. 
What do you say?” 

‘‘Fine!” said Aldous. 

“And Peggy wants me to say that it’s a matta* of only 
common, every-day decency on your part to make your- 
self our guest while here,” added the contractor, stuflSng 
his pipe. “We’ve got plenty of room, enough to eat, and 


THE HUNTED WOMAN 175 

a comfortable bed for you. You’re going to be polite 
enough to accept, aren’t you?” 

‘‘With all my heart,” exclaimed Aldous, his blood 
tingling at the thought of being near Joanne. “I’ve got 
some business with MacDonald and as soon as that’s over 
I’ll domicile myself here. It’s bully of you, Blackton! 
You know ” 

“Why, dammit, of course I know!” chuckled Blackton, 
lighting his pipe. “Can’t I see, Aldous? D’ye think I’m 
blind? I was just as gone over Peggy before I married her. 
Pact is, I haven’t got over it yet — and never will. I come 
up from the work fom times a day regular to see her, and if I 
don’t come I have to send up word I’m safe. Peggy saw 
it first. She said it was a shame to put you off in that 
cabin with Miss Gray away up here. I don’t want to 
stick my nose in your business, old man, but — ^by George! 
— I congratulate you! I’ve only seen one lovelier woman 
in my life, and that’s Peggy.” 

He thrust out a hand and pumped his friend’s limp arm, 
and Aldous felt himself growing suddenly warm under the 
other’s chuckling gaze. 

“For goodness sake don’t say anything, or act anything, 
old man,” he pleaded. “I’m — ^just — ^hoping.” 

Blackton nodded with prodigious understanding in his 
eyes. 

“Come along when you get through with MacDonald,” 
he said. “I’m going in and clean up for to-night’s fire- 
works.” 

A question was in Aldous’ mind, but he did not put it 
in words. He wanted to know about Quade and Culver 
Bann. 


176 


THE HUNTED WOMAN 


“Blackton is such a ridiculously forgetful fellow at 
times that I don’t want to rouse his alarm,” he said to 
MacDonald as they were riding toward the corral a few 
minutes later. “He might let something out to Joanne 
and his wife, and I’ve got reasons — mighty good reasons, 
Mac — for keeping this affair as quiet as possible. We’ll 
have to discover what Rann and Quade are doing ouir 
selves.” 

MacDonald edged his horse in nearer to Aldous. 

“See here, Johnny, boy — tell me what’s in your mind?’' 

Aldous looked into the grizzled face, and there was some- 
thing in the glow of the old mountaineer’s eyes that made 
him think of a father. 

“You know, Mac.” 

Old Donald nodded. 

“Yes, I guess I do, Johnny,” he said in a low voice. 
“You think of Mis’ Joanne as I used to — to — ^think of her. 
I guess I know. But — ^what you goin’ to do?” 

Aldous shook his head, and for the first time that after- 
noon a look of uneasiness and gloom overspread his 
^ace. 

“I don’t know, Mac. I’m not ashamed to tell you. I 
love her. If she were to pass out of my life to-morrow 
I would ask for something that belonged to her, and the 
spirit of her would live in it for me until I died. That’s 
how I care, Mac. But I’ve known her such a short time. 
I can’t tell her yet. It wouldn’t be the square thing. 
And yet she won’t remain in Tete Jaune very long. Her 
mission is accomplished. And if — ^if she goes I can’t very 
well follow her, can I, Mac?” 

For a space old Donald was silent. Then he said. 


THE HUNTED WOMAN 177 

You’re thinkin’ of me, Johnny, an’ what we was planning 
on?” 

‘Tartly.” 

“Then don’t any more. I’ll stick to you, an’ we’ll 
stick to her. Only ” 

“What?” 

“If you could get Peggy Blackton to help you ” 

“You mean ” began Aldous eagerly. 

“That if Peggy Blackton got her to stay for a week — 
•nebby ten days — ^visitin’ her, you know, it wouldn’t be so 
bad if you told her then, would it, Johnny?” 

“By George, it wouldn’t!” 

“And I think ” 

“Yes ” 

“Bein’ an old man, an' seein’ mebby what you don’t 


“Yes ” 

“That she’d take you, Johnny.” 

In his breast John’s heart seemed suddenly to give a 
"]ump that choked him. And while he stared ahead old 
Donald went on. 

“I’ve seen it afore, in a pair of eyes just like her eyes, 
Johnny — so soft an’ deeplike, like the sky up there when 
the sun’s in it. I seen it when we was ridin’ behind an’ 
she looked ahead at you, Johnny. I did. An’ I’ve seen 
it afore. An’ I think ” 

Aldous waited, his heart-strings ready to snap. 

“An’ I think — she likes you a great deal, Johnny.” 

Aldous reached over and gripped MacDonald’s hand. 

“The good Lord bless you, Donald! We’ll stick! As 
for Quade and Culver Rann ” 


178 


THE HUNTED WOMAN 


**IVe been thinkin’ of them,” Interrupted MacDonald, 
‘‘You havenT got time to waste on them, Johnny. Leave 
’em to me. If it’s only a week you’ve got to be close an’ 
near by Mis’ Joanne. I’ll find out what Quade an’ Rann 
are doing, and what they’re goin’ to do. I’ve got a scheme. 
Will you leave ’em to me?” 

Aldous nodded, and in the same breath informed Mac- 
Donald of Peggy Blackton’s invitation. The old hunter 
chuckled exultantly. He stopped his horse, and Aldoua 
halted. 

“It’s workin’ out fine, Johnny!” he exclaimed. “There 
ain’t no need of you goin’ any further. We understand 
each other, and there ain’t nothin’ for you to do at the 
corral. Jump off your horse and go back. If I want you 
I’ll come to the Blacktons’ ’r send word, and if you want 
me I’ll be at the corral or the camp in the coulee. Jump 
off, Johnny!” 

Without further urging Aldous dismounted. They 
shook hands again, and MacDonald drove on ahead of 
him the saddled horses and the pack. And as Aldous 
turned back toward the bungalow old Donald was mum- 
bling low in his beard again, “God ha’ mercy on me, but 
I’m doin’ it for her an’ Johnny — ^for her an’ Johnny!” 


CHAPTER XVII 


H alf an hour later Blackton had shown Aldous to 
his room and bath. It was four o’clock when he 
rejoined the contractor in the lower room, freshly 
bathed and shaven and in a change of clothes. He had 
not seen Joanne, but half a dozen times he had heard her 
end Peggy Blackton laughing and talking in Mrs. Black- 
ton’s big room at the head of the stairs, and he heard them 
now as they sat down to smoke their cigars. Blackton 
was filled with enthusiasm over the accomplishment of 
his latest work, and Aldous tried hard not to betray the 
fact that the minutes were passing with gruelling slowness 
while he waited for Joanne. He wanted to see her. His 
heart was beating like an excited boy’s. He could hear 
her footsteps over his head, and he distinguished her soft 
laughter, and her sweet voice when she spoke. There 
was something tantalizing in her nearness and the fact 
that she did not once show herself at the top of the stair. 
Blackton was still talking about “coyotes” and dynamite 
when, an hour later, Aldous looked up, and his heart gave 
a big, glad jump. 

Peggy Blackton, a plump little golden-haired vision of 
happiness, was already half a dozen steps down the stairs. 
At the top Joanne, for an instant, had paused. Through 
that space, before the contractor had turned, her eyes met 
those of John Aldous. She was smiling. Her eyes were 


179 


180 


THE HUNTED WOMAN 


shining at him. Never had he seen her look at him In 
that way, he thought, and never had she seemed such a 
perfect vision of loveliness. She was dressed in a soft^ 
clinging something with a flutter of white lace at her throat, 
and as she came down he saw that she had arranged her 
hair in a marvellous way. Soft little curls haK hid them< 
selves in the shimmer of rich coils she had wreathed upon 
her head, and adorable little tendrils caressed the lovely 
flush in her cheeks, and clung to the snow-whiteness of her 
neck. 

For a moment, as Peggy Blackton went to her husband, 
he stood very close to Joanne, and into his eyes she wa^ 
smiling, half laughing, her beautiful mouth aquiver, her 
eyes glowing, the last trace of their old suspense and fear 
vanished in a new and wondrous beauty. He would not 
have said she was twenty-eight now. He would have 
sworn she was twenty. 

‘‘Joanne,’’ he whispered, “you are wonderful. Youi 
hair is glorious!” 

“Always — my hair,” she replied, so low that he alone 
heard. “Can you never see beyond my hair, John Al- 
dous?” 

“I stop there,” he said. “And I marvel. It is glori- 
ous!” 

“Again!” And up from her white throat there rose a 
richer, sweeter colour. “If you say that again now, John 
Aldous, I shall never make curls for you again as long as 
I live!” 

“For me ” 

His heart seemed near bursting with joy. But she had 
left him, and was laughing with Peggy Blackton, who was 


THE HUNTED WOMAN 


181 


showing her husband where he had missed a stubbly patch 
of beard on his cheek. He caught her eyes, turned 
swiftly to him, and they were laughing at him, and there 
came a sudden pretty upturn to her chin as he continued 
to stare, and he saw again the colour deepening in her face. 
When Peggy Blackton led her husband to the stair, and 
drove him up to shave oflf the stubbly patch, Joanne 
found the opportunity to whisper to him: 

‘‘You are rude, John Aldous! You must not stare at 
me like that!” 

And as she spoke the rebellious colour was still in her 
face, in spite of the tantalizing cmve of her red lips and 
the sparkle in her eyes. 

“I can’t help it,” he pleaded. “You are — ^glorious!” 

During the next hour, and while they were at supper, 
he could see that she was purposely avoiding his eyes, and 
that she spoke oftener to Paul Blackton than she did to 
him, apparently taking the keenest interest in his friend’s 
enthusiastic descriptions of the mighty work along the 
line of steel. And as pretty Peggy Blackton never seemed 
quite so happy as when listening to her husband, he was 
forced to content himself by looking at Joanne most of 
the time, without once receiving her smile. 

The sun was just falling behind the western mountains 
when Peggy and Joanne, hurried most incontinently by 
Blackton, who had looked at his watch, left the table to 
prepare themselves for the big event of the evening. 

“I want to get you there before dusk,” he explained. 
“So please hmry!” 

They were back in five minutes. Joanne had slipped 

a long gray coat, and with a veil that trailed a yard down 


182 


THE HUNTED WOMAN 


her back she had covered her head. Not a curl or a tress 
of her hair had she left out of its filmy prison, and there 
was a mischievous gleam of triumph in her eyes when she 
looked at Aldous. 

A moment later, when they went ahead of Blackton and 
his wife to where the buckboard was waiting for them, he 
said: 

‘^You put on that veil to punish me, Ladygray?” 

‘Tt is a pretty veil,” said she. 

‘‘But your hair is prettier,” said he. 

“And you embarrassed me very much by staring as you 
did, John Aldous!” 

“Forgive me. It is — I mean you are — so beautiful.” 

“And you are sometimes — ^most displeasing,” said she* 
“Your ingenuousness, John Aldous, is shocking!” 

“Forgive me,” he said again. 

“And you have known me but two days,” she added. 

“Two days — is a long time,” he argued. “One can be 
bom, and live, and die in two days. Besides, our trails 
have crossed for years.” 

“But — ^it displeases me.” 

“What I have said?” 

“Yes.” 

“And the way I have looked at you?” 

“Yes.” 

Her voice was low and quiet now, her eyes were serious, 
and she was not smiling. 

“I know — I know,” he groaned, and there was a deep 
thrill in his voice. “It’s been only two days after all, 
Ladygray. It seems like — ^like a lifetime. I don’t want 
you to think badly of me. God knows I don’t!” 


THE HUNTED WOMAN 


183 


“No, no^ I don’t,” she said quickly and gently. “You 
are the finest gentleman I ever knew, John Aldous. Only 
•—it embarrasses me.” 

“I will cut out my tongue and put out my eyes ” 

“Nothing so terrible,” she laughed softly. “Will you 
help me into the wagon? They are coming.” 

She gave him her hand, warm and soft; and Blackton 
forced him into the seat between her and Peggy, and 
Joanne’s hand rested in his arm all the way to the mountain 
that was to be blown up, and he told himself that he was 
a fool if he were not supremely happy. The wagon 
stopped, and he helped her out again, her warm little hand 
again close in his own, and when she looked at him he was 
the cool, smiling John Aldous of old, so cool, and strong, 
and unemotional that he saw surprise in her eyes first, and 
then that gentle, gathering glow that came when she was 
proud of him, and pleased with him. And as Blackton 
pointed out the mountain she unknotted the veil under her 
chin and let it drop back over her shoulders, so that the 
last light of the day fell richly in the trembling curls and 
thick coils of her hair. 

“And that is my reward,” said John Aldous, but he 
whispered it to himself. 

They had stopped close to a huge flat rock, and on this 
rock men were at work fitting wires to a little boxlike 
thing that had a white button-lever. Paul Blackton 
pointed to this, and his face was flushed with excitement. 

“That’s the little thing that’s going to blow it up. Miss 
Gray — the touch of your finger on that little white button. 
Do you see that black base of the mountain yonder? — ^ 
right there where you can see men moving about? It'^i 


184 THE HUNTED WOMAN 

half a mile from here, and the *coyote’ is there, dug int^ 
the wall of it.” 

The tremble of enthusiasm was in his voice as he went 
on, pointing with his long arm: ‘‘Think of it! We're 
spending a hundred thousand dollars going through that 
rock that people who travel on the Grand Trunk Pacific 
in the future will be saved seven minutes in their journey 
from coast to coast! We’re spending a hundred thousand 
there, and millions along the line, that we may have the 
smoothest roadbed in the world when we’re done, and the 
quickest route from sea to sea. It looks like waste, but 
it isn’t. It’s science! It’s the fight of competition! 
It’s the determination behind the forces — ^the determi- 
nation to make this road the greatest road in the worldi 
Listen!” 

The gloom was thickening swiftly. The black mountain 
was fading slowly away, and up out of that gloom came 
now ghostly and far-reaching voices of men booming 
faintly through giant megaphones. 

Clear away! Clear away! Clear away they said, 
and the valley and the mountain-sides caught up the 
echoes, until it seemed that a himdred voices were crying 
out the warning. Then fell a strange and weird silence, 
and the echoes faded away like the voices of dying men, 
and all was still save the far-away barking of a coyote 
that answered the mysterious challenges of the night. 
Joanne was close to the rock. Quietly the men who had 
been working on the battery drew back. 

“It is ready!” said one. 

“Wait!” said Blackton, as his wife went to speak* 
“Listen!” 


THE HUNTEH WOMAN 186 

For five minutes there was silence. Then out of the 
night a single megaphone cried the word: 

^^Firer 

‘‘All is clear,” said the engineer, with a deep breath. 
“All you have to do. Miss Gray, is to move that little lever 
from the side on which it now rests to the opposite side. 
Are you ready?” 

In the darkness Joanne’s left hand had sought John’s. 
It dung to his tightly. He could feel a little shiver run 
through her. 

** Yes,” she whispered. 

“Then — ^if you please — ^press the button!” 

Slowly Joanne’s right hand crept out, while the fingers 
of her left clung tighter to Aldous. She touched the 
button — ^thrust it over. A little cry that fell from be- 
tween her tense lips told them she had done the work, and 
a silence Kke that of death fell on those who waited. 

A half a minute — ^perhaps three quarters — ^and a shiver 
ran imder their feet, but there was no sound; and then a 
black pall, darker than the night, seemed to rise up out of 
the moimtain, and with that, a second later, came the 
explosion. There was a rumbling and a jarring, as if the 
earth were convulsed under foot; volumes of dense black 
smoke shot upward, and in another instant these rolling, 
twisting volumes of black became lurid, and an explosion 
like that of a thousand great guns rent the air. As fast 
as the eye could follow sheets of flame shot up out of the 
sea of smoke, climbing higher and higher, in lightning 
flashes, until the lurid tongues licked the air a quarter of 
a mile above the startled wilderness. Explosion followed 
e^losion, some of them coming in hollow, reverberating 


186 


THE HUNTED WOMAN 


booms, others sounding as if in mid-air. Unseen by the 
watchers, the heavens were filled with hurtling rocks; solid 
masses of granite ten feet square were thrown a hundred 
feet away; rocks weighing a ton were hurled still farther, 
as if they were no more than stones flung by the hands of a 
giants chunks that would have crashed from the roof to the 
basement of a skyscraper dropped a third of a mile away. 
For three minutes the frigh^iul convulsions continued, and 
the tongues of flame leaped into the night. Then the 
lurid lights died out, shorter and shorter grew the sullen 
flashes, and then again fell — silence! 

During those appalling moments, unconscious of the 
act, Joanne had shrank close to Aldous, so that he felt 
the soft crush of her hair and the swift movement of her 
bosom. Blackton’s voice brought them back to life. 

He laughed, and it was the laugh of a man who had 
looked upon work well done. 

‘‘It has done the trick,” he said. “To-morrow we 
will come and see. And I have changed my plans about 
Coyote Number Twenty-eight. Hutchins, the super- 
intendent, is passing through in the afternoon, and I want 
him to see it.” He spoke now to a man who had come up 
out of the darkness. “Gregg, have Twenty-eight ready 
at fom o’clock to-morrow afternoon — ^four o’clock — ^sharp !” 

Then he said: 

"‘Dust and a bad smell will soon be settling about us. 
Come, let’s go home!” 

And as they went back to the buckboard wagon through 
the gloom John Aldous still held Joanne’s hand in hia 
own» and she made no effort to take it from him. 


CHAPTER XVm 


T he next morning, when Aldous joined the engineer 
in the dining-room below, he was disappointed 
to find the breakfast table prepared for two instead 
of four. It was evident that Peggy Blackton and Joanne 
were not going to interrupt their beauty nap on their 
account. 

Blackton saw his friend’s inquiring look, and chuckled. 

“ Guess we’ll have to get along without ’em this morning, 
old man. Lord bless me, did you hear them last night 
— after you went to bed?” 

“No.” 

“You were too far away,” chuckled Blackton again, 
“I was in the room across the hall from them. You see, 
old man, Peggy sometimes gets fairly starved for the right 
sort of company up here, and last night they didn’t go 
to bed until after twelve o’clock. I looked at my watch. 
Mebby they were in bed, but I could hear ’em buzzing 
like two bees, and every little while they’d giggle, and then 
go on buzzing again. By George, there wasn’t a break in 
it! When one let up the other’d begin, and sometimes 
I guess they were both going at once. Consequently, 
they’re sleeping now.” 

When breakfast was finished Blackton looked at his 
watch. 

“Seven o’clock,” he said. “We’ll leave word for the 


187 


188 THE HUNTED WOMAN 

girls to be ready at nine. What are you going to do mean* 
time, Aldous?’^ 

“Hunt up MacDonald, probably.” 

“And I’ll run down and take a look at the work.” 

As they left the house the engineer nodded down the 
road. MacDonald was coming. 

“He has saved you the trouble,” he said. “Remember, 
Aldous — ^nine o’clock sharp!” 

A moment later Aldous was advancing to meet the old 
mountaineer. 

“They’ve gone, Johnny,” was Donald’s first greeting. 

“Gone?” 

“Yes. The whole bunch — Quade, Culver Bann, DeBar, 
and the woman who rode the bear. They’ve gone, hide 
and hair, and nobody seems to know where.” 

Aldous was staring. 

“Also,” resumed old Donald slowly, “Culver Rann’s 
outfit is gone — ^twenty horses, including six saddles. An* 
likewise others have gone, but I can’t find out who.” 

“Gone!” repeated Aldous again. 

MacDonald nodded. 

“And that means ” 

“TTiat Culver Rann ain’t lost any time in gettin’ imder 
way for the gold,” said Donald. “DeBar is with him, 
an* probably the woman. Likewise three cut-throats to 
fill the other saddles. They’ve gone prepared to fight.” 

“And Quade?” 

Old Donald hunched his shoulders, and suddenly John’s 
face grew dark and hard. 

“I understand,” he spoke, half under his breath* 
“Quade has disappeared — ^but he isn’t with Culver Raniu 


THE HUNTED WOMAN 


189 


He wants us to believe he has gone. He wants to throw 
us oflE our guard. But he’s watching, and waiting — some- 
where — ^like a hawk, to swoop down on Joanne! He ” 

‘‘That’s it!” broke in MacDonald hoarsely. “That’s 
it, Johnny! It’s his old trick — ^his old trick with women. 
There’s a hunderd men who’ve got to do his bidding — do 
it ’r get out of the mountains — an’ we’ve got to watch 

Joanne. We have, Johnny ! If she should disappear ’’ 

Aldous waited. 

“You’d never find her again, so ’elp me God, you 
wouldn’t, Johnny!” he finished. 

“Wee’ll watch her,” said Aldous quietly. “I’ll be with 
her to-day, Mac, and to-night I’ll come down to the camp 
in the coulee to compare notes with you. They can’t very 
well steal her out of Blackton’s house while I’m gone.” 

For an hour after MacDonald left him he walked about 
in the neighbourhood of the Blackton bungalow smoking 
his pipe. Not until he saw the contractor drive up in the 
buckboard did he return. Joanne and Peggy were more 
than prompt. They were waiting. If such a thing were 
possible Joanne was more radiantly lovely than the night 
before. To Aldous she became more beautiful every time 
he looked at her. But this morning he did not speak 
what was in his heart when, for a moment, he held her 
hand, and looked into her eyes. Instead, he said: 

“Good morning, Ladygray. Have you used ” 

“I have,” she smiled. “Only it’s Potterdam’s Tar 
Soap, and not the other. And you — ^have not shaved, 
John Aldous!” 

“Great Scott, so I haven’t!” he exclaimed, rubbing his 
chin. “But I did yesterday afternoon, Ladygray!” 


190 


THE HUNTED WOMAN 


^^And you will again this afternoon, if you please/^ she 
commanded. ‘T don’t like bristles.” 

‘‘But in the wilderness ” 

“One can shave as well as another can make curls,” she 
reminded him, and there came an adorable little dimple 
at the corner of her mouth as she looked toward Paul 
Blackton. 

Aldous was glad that Paul and Peggy Blackton did most 
of the talking that morning. They spent half an hour 
where the explosion of the night before had blown out the 
side of the mountain, and then drove on to Coyote Number 
Twenty-eight. It was in the face of a sandstone cliflF, 
and all they could see of it when they got out of the wagon 
was a dark hole in the wall of rock. Not a soul was about, 
and Blackton rubbed his hands with satisfaction. 

“Everything is completed,” he said. “ Gregg put in the 
last packing this morning, and all we are waiting for now 
Js four o’clock this afternoon.” 

The hole in the mountain was perhaps four feet square. 
Pen feet in front of it the engineer paused, and pointed to 
the ground. Up out of the earth came two wires, which 
led away from the mouth of the cavern. 

“Those wires go down to the explosives,” he explained. 
“They’re battery wires half a mile long. But we don’t 
attach the battery until the final moment, as you saw last 
night. There might be an accident.” 

He bent his tall body and entered the mouth of the 
cavern, leading his wife by the hand. Observing that 
Joanne had seen this attention , on the contractor’s part, 
Aldous held out his own hand, and Joanne accepted it. 
For perhaps twenty feet they followed the Blacktons with 


THE HUNTED WOMAN 


191 


lowered heads. They seemed to have entered a black, 
cold pit, sloping slightly downward, and only faintly could 
they see Blackton when he straightened. 

His voice came strange and sepulchral: 

^‘You can stand up now. We’re in the chamber. 
Don’t move or you might stumble over something. Ther^ 
ought to be a lantern here.” 

He struck a match, and as he moved slowly toward a 
wall of blackness, searching for the lantern, he called back 
encouragingly through the gloom: 

‘‘You folks are now standing right over ten tons of 
dynamite, and there’s another five tons of black pow« 
der ” 

A Httle shriek from Peggy Blackton stopped him, and 
his match went out. 

“What in heaven’s name is the matter?” he asked 
anxiously. “Peggy ” 

“Why in heaven’s name do you light a match then, 
with us standing over all those tons of dynamite?” de- 
manded Peggy. “Paul Blackton, you’re ” 

The engineer’s laughter was hke a giant’s roar in the 
cavern, and Joanne gave a gasp, while Peggy shiveringly 
caught Aldous by the arm. 

“There — I’ve got the lantern!” exclaimed Blackton. 

There isn’t any danger, not a bit. Wait a minute and 
I’ll tell you all about it.” He lighted the lantern, and in 
the glow of it Joanne’s and Peggy’s faces were white and 
startled. “Why, bless my soul, I didn’t mean to frighten 
you!” he cried. “I was just telling you facts. See, we’re 
standing on a solid floor — ^four feet of packed rock and 
cement. The dynamite and black powder are under 


192 


THE HUNTED WOMAN 


that. We’re in a chamber — a cave — an artificial cavern* 
It’s forty feet deep, twenty wide, and about seven 
high.” 

He held the lantern even with his shoulders and walked 
deeper into the cavern as he spoke. The others followed. 
They passed a keg on which was a half-bmned candle. 
Close to the keg was an empty box. Beyond these things 
the cavern was empty. 

‘T thought it was full of powder and dynamite,” apolo- 
gized Peggy. 

You see, it’s like this,” Blackton began. ‘‘We put the 
powder and dynamite down there, and pack it over solid 
with rock and cement. If we didn’t leave this big air-* 
chamber above it there would be only one explosion, and 
probably two thirds of the explosive would not fire, and 
would be lost- This chamber corrects that. You heard 
a dozen explosions last night, and you’ll hear a dozen this 
afternoon, and the biggest explosion of all is usually the 
fourth or fifth. A ‘coyote’ isn’t like an ordinary blast 
or shot. It’s a mighty expensive thing, and you see it 
means a lot oi work. Now, if some one were to touch off 

those explosives at this minute What’s the matter, 

Peggy? Are you cold? You’re shivering!” 

“Ye-e-e-e-s!” chattered Peggy. 

Aldous felt Joanne tugging at his hand. 

“Let’s take Mrs. Blackton out,” she whispered. “I’m — 
I’m — ^afraid she’ll take cold!” 

In spite of himself Aldous could not restrain his laughter 
until they had got through the tunnel. Out in the sun- 
light he looked at Joanne, still holding her hand. She 
withdrew it, looking at him accusingly. 


THE HUNTED WOMAN 19S 

‘‘Lord bless me!” exclaimed Blackton, who seemed to 
understand at last. “There’s no danger — ^not a bit!” 

“But I’d rather look at it from outside, Paul, dear,^ 
said Mrs. Blackton. 

“But — ^Peggy — if it went oflF now you’d be in just as 
bad shape out here!” 

“I don’t think we’d be quite so messy, really I don’t^ 
dear,” she persisted. 

“Lord bless me!” he gasped. 

“And they’d probably be able to find something of us,** 
she added. 

“Not a button, Peggy!” 

“Then I’m going to move, if you please!” And suiting 
her action to the word Peggy led the way to the buckboard. 
There she paused and took one of her husband’s big hands 
fondly in both her own. “It’s perfectly wonderful, 
Paul — and I’m proud of you!” she said. “But, honestly, 
dear, I can enjoy it so much better at four o’clock this 
afternoon.” 

Smiling, Blackton lifted her into the buckboard. 

“ That’s »why I wish Paul had been a preacher or some- 
thing like that,” she confided to Joanne as they drove 
homeward. “I’m growing old just thinking of him 
working over that horrid dynamite and powder all the 
time. Every little while some one is blown into nothing.” 

“I believe,” said Joanne, “that I’d like to do something 
like that if I were a man. I’d want to be a man, not that 
preachers aren’t men, Peggy, dear — ^but I’d want to do 
things, like blowing up mountains for instance, or finding 
buried cities, or” — she whispered, very, very softly imder 
her breath — “writing books, John Aldousl” 


194 


THE HUNTED WOMAN 


Only Aldous heard those last words, and Joanne gave a 
sharp little cry; and when Peggy asked her what the 
matter was Joanne did not tell her that John Aldous had 
almost broken her hand on the opposite side — ^for Joanne 
was riding between the two. 

‘Tt’s lame for life,’’ she said to him half an hour later, 
when he was bidding her good-bye, preparatory to accom- 
panying Blackton down to the working steel. “And I 
deserve it for trying to be kind to you. I think some 
writers of books are — are perfectly intolerable!” 

“Won’t you take a little walk with me right after din- 
ner?” he was asking for the twentieth time. 

“I doubt it very, very much.” 

“Please, Ladygray!” 

“I may possibly think about it.” 

With that she left him, and she did not look back as she 
and Peggy Blackton went into the house. But as they 
drove away they saw two faces at the window that over%> 
looked the townward road, and two hands were waving 
good-bye. Both could not be Peggy Blackton’s hands. 

“Joanne and I are going for a walk this afternoon, 
Blackton,” said Aldous, “and I just want to tell you not 
to worry if we’re not back by four o’clock. Don’t wait 
for us. We may be watching the blow-up from the top 
of some mountain.” 

Blackton chuckled. 

“Don’t blame you,” he said. “From an observer’s 
point of view, John, it looks to me as though you were 
going to have something more than hope to live on pretty 
won!” 

“I— I hope so,” 


THE HUNTED WOMAN 


195 


*‘And when I was going with Peggy I wouidnT have 
traded a quiet little walk with her — like this you’re sug- 
gesting — ^for a front seat look at a blow-up of the whole 
Rocky Mountain system!” 

‘‘And you won’t forget to tell Mrs. Blackton that we 
may not return by four o’clock?” 

“I will not. Amd” — ^Blackton puflFed hard at his pipe — 
“and, John — ^the Tete Jaune preacher is our nearest 
neighbour,” he finished. 

From then imtil dinner time John Aldous hved in an 
atmosphere that was not quite real, but a httle like a 
dream. His hopes and his happiness were at their highest. 
He knew that Joanne would go walking with him that 
afternoon, and in spite of his most serious efforts to argue 
to the contrary he could not keep down the feeling that 
the event would mean a great deal for him. Almost 
feverishly he interested himself in Paul Blackton’s work. 
When they returned to the bungalow, a httle before noon, 
he went to his room, shaved himself, and in other ways 
prepared for dinner. 

Joanne and the Blacktons were waiting when he came 
down. 

His first look at Joanne assured him. She was dressed 
in a soft gray walking-suit. Never had the preparation 
of a dinner seemed so slow to him, and a dozen times he 
found himself inwardly swearing at Tom, the Chinese 
cook. It was one o’clock before they sat down at the table 
and it was two o’clock when they arose. It was a quarter 
after two when Joanne and he left the bungalow. 

“Shall we wander up on the mountain?” he asked. 
“It would be fine to look down upon the explosion.” 


THE HUNTED WOMAN 


196 , 

*‘I have noticed that in some things you are very ol> 
servant/^ said Joanne, ignoring his question. ‘‘In the 
matter of curls, for instance, you are imapproachable; 
in others you are — quite blind, John Aldous!” 

“What do you mean?” he asked, bewildered. 

“I lost my scarf this morning, and you did not notice 
it. It is quite an imusual scarf. I bought it in Cairo, 
and I don’t want to have it blown up.” 

“You mean ” 

“Yes. I must have dropped it in the cavern. I had 
it when we entered.” 

“Then we’ll return for it,” he volunteered. “We’U 
still have plenty of time to climb up the mountain before 
the explosion.” 

Twenty minutes later they came to the dark mouth of 
the tunnel. There was no one in sight, and for a moment 
Aldous searched for matches in his pocket. 

“Wait here,” he said. “I won’t be gone two minutes.” 

He entered, and when he came to the chamber he struck 
a match. The lantern was on the empty box. He lighted 
it, and began looking for the scarf. Suddenly he heard a 
sound. He turned, and saw Joanne standing in the glow 
of the lantern. 

“Can you find it? ” she asked. 

“I haven’t — ^yet.” 

They bent over the rock floor, and in a moment Joanna 
gave a little exclamation of pleasure as she caught up 
the scarf. In that same moment, as they straightened 
and faced each other, John Aldous felt his heart cease 
beating, and Joanne’s face had gone as white as death. 
The rock-walled chamber was atremble; they heard a 


THE HUNTED WOMAN 


197 


sullen, distant roaring, and as Aldous caught Joanne^s 
hand and sprang toward the tunnel the roar grew into a 
deafening crash, and a gale of wind rushed into their 
faces, blowing out the lantern, and leaving them in dark- 
ness. The mountain seemed crumbling about them, and 
above the soimd of it rang out a wild, despairing cry from 
Joanne’s lips. For there was no longer the brightness 
of sunshine at the end of the tunnel, but darkness — utter 
darkness; and through that tunnel there came a deluge of 
dust and rock that flung them back into the blackness of 
the pit, and separated them. 

‘‘ John — ^John Aldous ! ” 

“ I am here, Joanne ! I will light the lantern ! ” 

His groping hands found the lantern. He relighted it, 
and Joanne crept to his side, her face as white as the face 
of the dead. He held the lantern above him, and together 
they stared at where the tunnel had been. A mass of 
rock met their eyes. The tunnel was choked. And then, 
slowly, each turned to the other; and each knew that the 
other understood — ^for it was Death that whispered about 
them now in the restless air of the rock-walled tomb, a 
terrible death, and their lips spoke no words as their eyes 
met in that fearful and silent understanding. 


CHAPTER XIX 


J OANNE’S white lips spoke first. 

“The tunnel is closed!” she whispered. 

Her voice was strange. It was not Joanne’s 
voice. It was unreal, terrible, and her eyes were terrible 
as they looked steadily into his. Aldous could not answer; 
something had thickened in his throat, and his blood ran 
cold as he stared into Joanne’s dead-white face and saw 
the understanding in her eyes. For a space he could not 
move, and then, as suddenly as it had fallen upon him, 
the effect of the shock passed away 
He smiled, and put out a hand to her. 

“A slide of rock has fallen over the mouth of the tunnel,” 
he said, forcing himself to speak as if it meant little or 
nothing. “Hold the lantern, Joanne, while I get busy.” 
“A slide of rock,” she repeated after him dumbly. 

She took the lantern, her eyes still looking at him in that 
stricken way, and with his naked hands John Aldous set 
to work. Five minutes and he knew that it was madness 
to continue. Hands alone could not clear the tunnel. 
And yet he worked, tearing into the rock and shale like an 
animal; rolling back small boulders, straining at larger 
ones until the tendons of his arms seemed ready to snap 
and his veins to burst. For a few minutes after that he 
went mad. His muscles cracked, he panted as he fought 
with the rock until his hands were torn and bleeding, and 
198 


THE HUNTED WOMAN 


199 


over and over again there ran through his head Blackton’s 
last words — Four 6* clock this afternoon I — Four o'clock this 
afternoon / 

Then he came to what he knew he would reach very 
soon, a solid wall! Rock and shale and earth were packed 
as if by battering rams. For a few moments he fought 
to control himseK before facing Joanne. Over him swept 
the grim realization that his last fight must be for her. He 
steadied himself, and wiped the dust and grime from his 
face with his handkerchief. For the last time he swallowed 
hard. His soul rose within him almost joyously now in 
the face of this last great fight, and he turned — ^John 
Aldous, the super-man. There was no trace of fear in his 
face as he went to her. He was even smiling in that 
ghostly glow of the lantern. 

“It is hard work, Joanne.” 

She did not seem to hear what he had said. She was 
looking at his hands. She held the lantern nearer. 

“Your hands are bleeding, John!” 

It was the first time she had spoken his name like that, 
and he was thrilled by the calmness of her voice, the un- 
trembling gentleness of her hand as it touched his hand. 
Prom his bruised and bleeding flesh she raised her eyes 
to him, and they were no longer the diunb, horrified eyes 
he had gazed into fifteen minutes before. In the wonder 
of it he stood silent, and the moment was weighted with an 
appalling silence. 

It came to them both in that instant — ^the tick4ick~tick 
of the watch in his pocket! 

Without taking her eyes from his face she asked: 

**What time is it. John?” 


200 


THE HUNTED WOMAN 


Joanne ” 

“I am not afraid,” she whispered. “I was afraid this 
afternoon, but I am not afraid now. What time is it, 
John?” 

‘‘My God — ^they’ll dig us out!” he cried wildly. 
“Joanne, you don’t think they won’t dig us out, do you? 
Why, that’s impossible! The slide has covered the wires. 
They’ve got to dig us out! There is no danger — ^none at 
all. Only it’s chilly, and uncomfortable, and I’m afraid 
you’ll take cold!” 

“ What time is it? ” she repeated softly. 

For a moment he looked steadily at her, and his heart 
leaped when he saw that she must believe him, for though 
her face was as white as an ivory cross she was smiling at 
him — yesl she was smiling at him in that gray and ghastly 
death-gloom of the cavern! 

He brought out his watch, and in the lantern-glow they 
looked at it. 

“A quarter after three,” he said. “By foiur o’clock 
they will be at work — Blackton and twenty men. Thej. 
will have us out in time for supper.” 

“A quarter after three,” repeated Joanne, and the words 
came steadily from her lips. “ That means ” 

He waited. 

“ We have forty-five minutes in which to live I ” she said. 

Before he could speak she had thrust the lantern into 
his hand, and had seized his other hand in both her own. 

“If there are only forty-five minutes let us not lie to one 
another,” she said, and her voice was very close. “ I know 
why you are doing it, John Aldous. It is for me. You 
have done a great deal for me in these two days in which 


THE HUNTED WOMAN 


m 


one *can be bom, and live, and die/ But in these last 
minutes I do not want you to act what I know cannot be 
the tmth. You know — and I know. The wires are laid to 
the battery rock. There is no hope. At four o’clock — ^we 
both know what will happen. And I — am not afraid.” 

She heard him choking for speech. In a moment he 
said: 

There are other lanterns — ^Joanne. I saw them when 
t was looking for the scarf. I will light them.” 

He found two lanterns hanging against the rock wall. 
He lighted them, and the half-burned candle. 

‘‘It is pleasanter,” she said. 

She stood in the glow of them when he turned to her, 
tall, and straight, and as beautiful as an angel. Her lips 
were pale; the last drop of blood had ebbed from her face; 
but there was something glorious in the poise of her head, 
and in the wistful gentleness of her mouth and the light 
in her eyes. And then, slowly, as he stood looking with a 
face torn in its agony for her, she held out her arms. 

“John— John Aldous ” 

“Joanne! Oh, my God! — Joanne!” 

She swayed as he sprang to her, but she was smiling — 
smiling in that new and wonderful way as her arms 
reached out to him, and the words he heard her say came 
low and sobbing; 

“John — ^John, if you want to, now — ^you can tell me 
/.hat my hair is beautiful!” 

And then she was in his arms, her warm, sweet body 
crushed close to him, her face IKted to him, her soft hands 
stroking his face, and over and over again she was speaking 
his name while from out of his soul there rushed forth the 


202 


THE HUNTED WOMAN 


mighty flood of his great love; and he held her there, for- 
getful of time now, forgetful of death itself; and he kissed 
her tender lips, her hair, her eyes — conscious only that in 
the hour of death he had found life, that her hands were 
stroking his face, and caressing his hair, and that over and 
over again she was whispering sobbingly his name, and 
that she loved him. The pressure of her hands against 
his breast at last made him free her. And now, truly, she 
was glorious. For the triumph of love had overridden the 
despair of death, and her face was flooded with its colour 
and in her eyes was its glory. 

And then, as they stood there, a step between them, 
there came — almost like the benediction of a cathedral 
bell — the soft, low tinkling chime of the half-hour bell in 
Aldous’ watch! 

It struck him like a blow. Every muscle in him became 
like rigid iron, and his torn hands clenched tightly at 
his sides. 

‘‘Joanne — ^Joanne, it is impossible!” he cried huskily, 
and he had her close in his arms again, even as her face 
was whitening in the lantern-glow. “I have lived for 
you, I have waited for you — all these years you have been 
coming, coming, coming to me — and now that you are 
mine — mine — ^it is impossible I It cannot happen ” 

He freed her again, and caught up a lantern. Foot by 
foot he examined the packed tunnel. It was solid — ^not 
a crevice or a break through which might have travelled 
the sound of his voice or the explosion of a gun. He did 
not shout. He knew that it would be hopeless, and that 
his voice would be terrifying in that sepulchral tomb. Was 
it possible that there might be some other opening — 


203 


THE HUNTED WOMAN 

possible exit — ^in that mountain wall? With the lantern 
in his hand he searched. There was no break. He came 
back to Joanne. She was standing where he had left 
her. And suddenly, as he looked at her, all fear went out 
of him, and he put down the lantern and went to her. 

“Joanne,” he whispered, holding her two hands against 
his breast, “you are not afraid?” 

“No, I am not afraid.” 

“And you know ” 

“Yes, I know,” and she leaned forward so that her head 
lay partly against their clasped hands and partly upon his 
breast. 

“And you love me, Joanne?” 

“As I never dreamed that I should love a man, Johj;^ 
Aldous,” she whispered. 

“And yet it has been but two days ” 

“And I have lived an eternity,” he heard her lips speak 
softly. 

“You would be my wife?” 

“Yes.” 

“To-morrow?” 

“K you wanted me then, John.” 

“I thank God,” he breathed in her hair. “And you 
would come to me without reservation, Joanne, trusting 
me, beheving in me — ^you would come to me body, and 
heart, and soul?” 

“In all those ways — ^yes.” 

“I thank God,” he breathed again. 

He raised her face. He looked deep into her eyes, and 
the glory of her love grew in them, and her lips trembled 
as she lifted them ever so little for him to kiss. 


204 


THE HUNTED WOMAN 


“Oh, I was happy — so happy,’’ she whispered, putting 
her hands to his face. “John, I knew that you loved me, 
and oh! I was fighting so hard to keep myself from 
letting you know how happy it made me. And here, I 
was afraid you wouldn’t tell me — ^before it happened. 
And John — ^John ” 

She leaned back from him, and her white hands moved 
like swift shadows in her hair, and then, suddenly, it 
billowed about her — ^her glorious hair — covering her from 
crown to hip; and with her hands she swept and piled the 
lustrous masses of it over him until his face, and head, and 
shoulders were buried in the flaming sheen and sweet per- 
fume of it. 

He strained her closer. Through the warm richness of 
her tresses his lips pressed her lips, and they ceased to 
breathe. And up to their ears, pounding through that 
enveloping shroud of her hair came the tick4ick4ick of the 
watch in his pocket. 

“Joanne,” he whispered. 

“Yes, John.” 

“You are not afraid of — death?” 

“No, not when you are holding me like this, John.” 

He still clasped her hands, and a sweet smile crept over 
her lips. 

“Even now you are splendid,” she said. “Oh, I would 
have you that way, my John!” 

Again they stood up in the unsteady glow of the lanterns. 

“What time is it?” she asked. 

He drew out his watch, and as they both looked his 
blood ran cold. 

“Twelve minutes,” she murmured, and there was not a 


THE HUNTED WOMAN 205 

quiver in her voice. ‘‘Let us sit down, John — ^you on this 
box, and I on the floor, at your feet — like this.” 

He seated himself on the box, and Joanne nestled herself 
at his knees, her hands clasped in his. 

“I think, John,” she said softly, “that very, very often 
we would have visited like this — ^you and I — in the eve- 
ning.” 

A lump choked him, and he could not answer. 

“I would very often have come and perched myself at 
your feet like this.” 

“Yes, yes, my beloved.” 

“And you would always have told me how beautiful 
my hair was — always. You would not have forgotten 
that, John — or have grown tired?” 

“No, no — never!” 

His arms were about her. He was drawing her closer. 

“And we would have had beautiful times together, 
John — ^writing, and going adventuring, and — and ” 

He felt her trembling, throbbing, and her arms tightened 
about him. 

And now, again up through the smother of her hair, 
came the iiclc4icJc4ick of his watch. 

He felt her fumbling at his watch pocket, and in a 
moment she was holding the timepiece between them, so 
that the light of the lantern fell on the face of it. 

“It is three minutes of four, John.” 

The watch slipped from her fingers, and now she drew 
herself up so that her arms were about his neck, and their 
faces touched. 

*‘Dear John, you love me?” 

"So much that even now, in the face of death, I am 


206 


THE HUNTED WOMAN 


happy,” he whispered. ‘‘Joanne, sweetheart, we are not 
going to be separated. We are going — ^together. Through 
all eternity it must be like this — ^you and I, together. 
Little girl, wind your hair about me — ^tight!” 

“There — ^and there — and there, John! I have tied you 
to me, and you are buried in it! Kiss me, John ” 

And then the wild and terrible fear of a great loneliness 
swept through him. For Joanne’s voice had died away 
in a whispering breath, and the lips he kissed did not kiss 
him back, and her body lay heavy, heavy, heavy in his 
arms. Yet in his loneliness he thanked God for bringing 
her oblivion in these last moments, and with his face 
crushed to hers he waited. For he knew that it was no 
longer a matter of minutes, but of seconds, and in those 
seconds he prayed, until up through the warm smother of 
her hair — ^with the clearness of a tolling bell — came the 
sound of the little gong in his watch striking the Hour of 
Four! 

In space other worlds might have crumbled into ruin; 
on earth the stories of empires might have been written 
and the lives of men grown old in those first centmy-long 
seconds in which John Aldous held his breath and waited 
after the chiming of the hour-bell in the watch on the 
cavern floor. How long he waited he did not know; how 
closely he was crushing Joanne to his breast he did not 
realize. Seconds, minutes, and other minutes — ^and his 
brain ran red in dumb, silent madness. And the watch! 
It tichedy tickedy ticked ! It was like a hammer. 

He had heard the sound of it first coming up through 
her hair. But it was not in her hair now. It was over him, 
about him — ^it was no longer a ticking, but a throb, a steady. 


THE HUNTED WOMAN 


207 


Jarring, beating throb. It grew louder, and the air stirred 
with it. He lifted his head. With the eyes of a madman 
he stared — ^and listened. His arms relaxed from about 
Joanne, and she slipped crumpled and lifeless to the floor. 
He stared — and that steady beat-beat-beat — a hundred 
times louder than the ticking of a watch — ^pounded in his 
brain. Was he mad.^ He staggered to the choked mouth of 
the tunnel, and then there fell shout upon shout, and shriek 
upon shriek from his lips, and twice, hke a madman now, 
he ran back to Joanne and caught her up in his arms, calling 
and sobbing her name, and then shouting — and calling 
her name again. She moved; her eyes opened, and like 
one gazing upon the spirit of the dead she looked into the 
face of John Aldous, a madman’s face in the lantem-glow. 

“John — ^John ” 

She put up her hands, and with a cry he ran with her in 
his arms to the choked timnel. 

“Listen! Listen!” he cried wildly. “Dear God in 
Heaven, Joanne — can you not hear them.^ It’s Blackton — 
Blackton and his men! Hear — ^hear the rock-hammers 
smashing ! Joanne — ^Joanne — ^we are saved ! ” 

She did not sense him. She swayed, half on her feet, 
half in his arms, as consciousness and reason retmned to 
her. Dazedly her hands went to his face in their old, 
sweet way. Aldous saw her struggling to understand — to 
comprehend; and he kissed her soft upturned lips, fighting 
back the excitement that made him want to raise his voice 
again in wild and joyous shouting. 

“It is Blackton!” he said over and over again. “It is 
Blackton and his men! Listen! — you can hear their picks 
and the poimding of their rock-hammers!” 


CHAPTER XX 



T LAST Joanne realized that the explosion was not 


to come, that Blackton and his men were working 
to save them. And now, as she listened with him. 


her breath began to come in sobbing excitement between 
her lips — ^for there was no mistaking that sound, that 
steady heat-beat-heat that came from beyond the cavern 
wall and seemed to set strange tremors stirring in the air 
about their ears. For a few moments they stood stunned 
and silent, as if not yet quite fully comprehending that 
they had come from out of the pit of death, and that men 
were fighting for their rescue. They asked themselves no 
questions — ^why the ‘‘ coyote had not been fired.^ how 
those outside knew they were in the cavern. And, as they 
listened, there came to them a voice. It was faint, so 
faint that it seemed to whisper to them through miles and 
miles of space — ^yet they knew that it was a voice! 

“ Some one is shouting,” spoke Aldous tensely. ‘‘Joanne, 
my darling, stand aroimd the face of the wall so flying 
rock will not strike you and I will answer with my pistol!” 

When he had placed her in safety from split lead and 
rock chips, he drew his automatic and fired it close up 
against the choked tunnel. He fired five times, steadily, 
counting three between each shot, and then he placed his 
ear to the mass of stone and earth and listened. Joanne 
slipped to him like a shadow. Her hand sought his, and 


THE HUNTED WOMAN 


209 


they held their breaths. They no longer heard sounds — 
nothing but the crumbling and falling of dust and pebbles 
where the bullets had struck, and their own heart-beats. 
The picks and rock-hammers had ceased. 

Tighter and tighter grew the clasp of Joanne’s fingers, 
and a terrible thought flashed into John’s brain. Perhaps 
a rock from the slide had cut a wire, and they had found 
the wire — ^had repaired it! Was that thought in Joanne’s 
mind, too? Her finger-nails pricked his flesh. He looked 
at her. Her eyes were closed, and her lips were tense and 
gray. And then her eyes shot open — ^wide and staring. 
They heard, faintly though it came to them — once, twice, 
three times, four, five — ^the firing of a gun! 

John Aldous straightened, and a great breath fell from 
his lips. 

‘‘Five times!” he said. “It is an answer. There is no 
longer doubt.” 

He was holding out his arms to her, and she came into 
them with a choking cry; and now she sobbed like a little 
child with her head against his breast, and for many 
minutes he held her close, kissing her wet face, and her 
damp hair, and her quivering lips, while the beat of the 
picks and the crash of the rock-hammers came steadily 
nearer. 

Where those picks and rock-hammers fell a score of men 
were working Kke fiends: Blackton, his arms stripped to 
the shoulders; Gregg, sweating and urging the men; and 
among them — ^lifting and tearing at the rock like a mad- 
man — old Donald MacDonald, his shirt open, his great 
hands bleeding, his hair and beard tossing about him in 
the wind. Behind them, her hands clasped to her breast — 


210 


THE HUNTED WOMAN 


crying out to them to hurry, hurry — stood Peggy Black- 
ton. The strength of five men was in every pair of arms^ 
Huge boulders were rolled back. Men pawed earth and 
shale with their naked hands. Rock-hammers fell with 
blows that would have cracked the heart of a granite 
obelisk. Half an hour — three quarters — ^and Blackton 
came back to where Peggy was standing, his face black 
and grimed, his arms red-seared where the edges of the 
rocks had caught them, his eyes shining. 

^‘We^re almost there, Peggy,” he panted. . /‘Another 
five minutes and ” 

A shout interrupted him. A cloud of dust rolled out of 
the mouth of the tunnel, and into that dust rushed half a 
dozen men led by old Donald. Before the dust had settled 
they began to reappear, and with a shrill scream Peggy 
Blackton darted forward and flung her arms about the 
gold-shrouded figure of Joanne, swaying and laughing and 
sobbing in the sunshine. And old Donald, clasping his 
great arms about Aldous, cried brokenly: 

“Oh, Johnny, Johnny — something told me to f oiler ye 
— ^an’ I was just in time — ^just in time to see you go into 
the coyote!” 

“God bless you, Mac!” said Aldous, and then Paul 
Blackton was wringing his hands; and one after another 
the others shook his hand, but Peggy Blackton was crying 
like a baby as she hugged Joanne in her arms. 

“MacDonald came just in time,” explained Blackton 
a moment later; and he tried to speak steadily, and tried 
to smile. “Ten minutes more, and ” 

He was white. 

“Now that it has turned out like this I thank God that 


THE HUNTED WOMAN 


211 


It happened, Paul,” said Aldous, for the engineer’s ears 
alone. “We thought we were facing death, and so — told 
her. And in there, on our knees, we pledged oiu'selves 
man and wife. I want the minister — ^as quick as you can 
get him, Blackton. Don’t say anything to Joanne, but 
bring him to the house right away, will you?” 

“Within half an horn-,” replied Blackton. “There 
comes Tony with the buckboard. We’ll hustle up to the 
house and I’ll have the preacher there in a jiffy.” 

As they went to the wagon, Aldous looked about for 
MacDonald. He had disappeared. Requesting Gregg 
to hunt him up and send him to the bungalow, he climbed 
into the back seat, with Joanne between him and Peggy. 
Her little hand lay in his. Her fingers clung to him. But 
her hair hid her face, and on the other side of her Peggy 
Blackton was laughing and talking and crying by turns. 

As they entered the bungalow, Aldous whispered to 
Joanne: 

“Will you please go right to your room, dear? I want 
to say something to you — alone.” 

When she went up the stair, Peggy caught a signal from 
her husband. Aldous remained with them. In two 
minutes he told the bewildered and finally delighted Peggy 
what was going to happen, and as Blackton hustled out 
for the minister’s house he followed Joanne. She had 
fastened her door behind her. He knocked. Slowly she 
opened it. 

“John ” 

“I have told them, dear,” he whispered happily. 
“They understand. And, Joanne, Paul Blackton will be 
back in ten minutes — ^with the minister. Are you glad?’^ 


212 


THE HUNTED WOMAN 


She had opened the door wide, and he was holding out 
his arms to her again. For a moment she did not move, 
but stood there trembling a little, and deeper and sweeter 
grew the colour in her face, and tenderer the look in her eyes. 

“I must brush my hair,’’ she answered, as though she 
could think of no other words. ‘T — I must dress.” 

Laughing joyously, he went to her and gathered the 
soft masses of her hair in his hands, and piled it up in a 
glorious disarray about her face and head, holding it there, 
and still laughing into her eyes. 

‘‘Joanne, you are mine!” 

“Unless I have been dreaming — I am, John Aldous!” 

“Forever and forever.” 

“Yes, forever — and ever.” 

“And because I want the whole world to know, we are 
going to be married by a minister.” 

She was silent. 

“And as my wife to be,” he went on, his voice trembling 
with his happiness, “you must obey me!” 

“I think that I shall, John.” 

“Then you will not brush your hair, and you will not 
change yom dress, and you will not wash the dust from 
your face and that sweet little beauty-spot from the tip 
of your nose,” he commanded, and now he drew her head 
close to him, so that he whispered, half in her hair: “Joanne, 
my darling, I want you wholly as you came to me there, 
when we thought we were going to die. It was there you 
promised to become my wife, and I want you as you were 
then — when the minister comes.” 

“John, I think I hear some one coming up the front 
steps !’^ 


THE HUNTED WOMAN 


213 


They listened. The door opened. They heard voices — - 
Blackton’s voice, Peggy’s voice, and another voice — a 
man’s voice. 

Blackton’s voice came up to them very distinctly. 

‘‘Mighty lucky, Peggy,” he said. “Caught Mr. Wol-* 
laver just as he was passing the house. Where’s ” 

“Sh-h-hh!” came Peggy Blackton’s sibilant whisper. 

Joanne’s hands had crept to John’s face. 

“I think,” she said, “that it is the minister, John.” 

Her warm lips were near, and he kissed them. 

“ Come, Joanne. We will go down.” 

Hand in hand they went down the stair; and when the 
minister saw Joanne, covered in the tangle and glory of 
her hair; and when he saw John Aldous, with half-naked 
arms and idlackened face; and when, with these things, he 
saw the wonderful joy shining in their eyes, he stood like 
one struck dumb at sight of a miracle descending out of the 
skies. For never had Joanne looked more beautiful than 
in this hour, and never had man looked more like entering 
into paradise than John Aldous. 

Short and to the point was the little moimtain minister’s 
service, and when he had done he shook hands with them, 
and again he stared at them as they went back up the 
stair, still hand in hand. At her door they stopped. 
There were no words to speak now, as her heart lay against 
his heart, and her lips against his lips. And then, after 
those moments, die drew a little back, and there came 
suddenly that sweet, quivering, joyous play of her lips 
as she said: 

“And now, my husband, may I dress my hair?” 

“My hair,” he corrected, and let her go from his arms. 


214 


THE HUNTED WOMAN 


Her door closed behind her. A little dizzily he turned 
to his room. His hand was on the knob when he heard 
her speak his name. She had reopened her door, and stood 
with something in her hand, which she was holding toward 
him. He went back, and she gave him a photograph. 

‘‘John, you will destroy this,” she whispered. “It is 
his photograph—Mortimer FitzHugh’s. I brought it to 
show to people, that it might help me in my search. Please 
— destroy it!” 

He retmned to his room and placed the photograph on 
his table. It was wrapped in thin paper, and suddenly 
there came upon him a most compelling desire to see what 
Mortimer FitzHugh had looked like in life. Joanne would 
not care. Perhaps it would be best for him to know. 

He tore off the paper. And as he looked at the picture 
the hot blood in his veins ran cold. He stared — stared 
as if some wild and maddening joke was being played upon 
his faculties. A cry rose to his lips and broke in a gasping 
breath, and about him the floor, the world itself, seemed 
dipping away from imder his feet. 

For the picture he held in his hand was the picture of 
Culver Rann! 


CHAPTER XXI 


F or a minute, perhaps longer, John Aldous stood 
staring at the photograph which he held in his 
hand. It was the picture of Culver Rann — ^not 
\)nce did he question that fact, and not once did the thought 
flash upon him that this might be only an imusual and 
Startling resemblance. It was assuredly Culver Rann! 
The picture dropped from his hand to the table, and 
he went toward the door. His first impulse was to 
go to Joanne. But when he reached the door he locked 
it, and dropped into a chair, facing the mirror in his 
dresser. 

The reflection of his own face was a shock to him. If he 
was pale, the dust and grime of his fight in the cavern 
concealed his pallor. But the face that stared at him from 
out of the glass was haggard, wildly and almost grotesquely 
haggard, and he turned from it with a grim laugh, and 
set his jaws hard. He returned to the table, and bit by 
bit tore the photograph into thin shreds, and then piled 
the shreds on his Hsh-tray and binned them. He opened 
a window to let out the smoke and smell of charring paper, 
and the fresh, cool air of early evening struck his face. 
He could look off through the fading sunshine of the 
valley and see the mountain where Coyote Number 
Twenty-eight was to have done its work, and as he 
looked he gripped the window-sill so fiercely that the nails 


THE HUNTED WOMAN 


£16 

of his fingers were bent and broken against the woo(L 
And in his brain the same words kept repeating themselveg 
over and over again. Mortimer FitzHugh was not dead 
He was alive. He was Culver Rann. And Joanne— 
Joanne was not his wife; she was still the wife of Mortimer 
FitzHugh — of Culver Rann! 

He turned again to the mirror, and there was another 
look in his face. It was grim, terribly grim — and smiling 
There was no excitement, nothing of the passion and half- 
madness with which he had faced Quade and Rann the 
night before. He laughed softly, and his nails dug as 
harshly into the palms of his hands as they had dug into 
the sills of the window. 

‘‘You poor, drivelling, cowardly fool!” he said to his 
reflection. “And you dare to say — ^you dare to think 
that she is not your wife?” 

As if in reply to his words there came a knock at the 
door, and from the hall Blackton called: 

“Here’s MacDonald, Aldous. He wants to see 
you.” 

Aldous opened the door and the old hunter entered. 

“If I ain’t interruptin’ you, Johnny ” 

“You’re the one man in the world I want to see, Mac. 
No, I’ll take that back; there’s one other I want to see 
worse than you — Culver Rann.” 

The strange look in his face made old Donald stare. 

“Sit down,” he said, drawing two chairs close to the 
table. “There’s something to talk about. It was a 
terribly close shave, wasn’t it?” 

“An awful close shave, Johnny. As close a shave as 


ever was. 


THE HUNTED WOMAN 217 

Still, as if not quite understanding what he saw, old 
Donald was staring into John’s face. 

“I’m glad it happened,” said Aldous, and his voice 
became softer. “She loves me, Mac. It all came out 
when we were in there, and thought we were going to die. 
Not ten minutes ago the minister was here, and he made 
us man and wife.” 

Words of gladness that sprang to the old man’s lips were 
stopped by that strange, cold, tense look in the face of 
John Aldous. 

“And in the last five minutes,” continued Aldous, as 
quietly as before, “I have learned that Mortimer FitzHugh, 
her husband, is not dead. Is it very remarkable that you 
do not find me happy, Mac? If you had come a few 
minutes ago ” 

“Oh, my God! Johnny! Johnny!” 

MacDonald had pitched forward over the table, and 
now he bowed his great shaggy head in his hands, imd his 
gaunt shoulders shook as his voice came brokenly through 
his beard. 

“I did it, Johnny; I did it for you an’ her! When I 
knew what it would mean for her — I couldn% Johnny, I 
couldn’t tell her the truth, ’cause I knew she loved you, 
an’ you loved her, an’ it would break her heart. I thought 
it would be best, an’ you’d go away together, an’ nobody 
would ever know, an’ you’d be happy. I didn’t lie. I 
didn’t say anything. But Johnny — ^Johnny, there wererCt 
no bones in the grave ! ” 

“My God!” breathed Aldous. 

“There were just some clothes,” went on MacDonald 
huskily, “an’ the watch an’ the ring were on top. Johnny, 


218 


THE HUNTED WOMAN 


there weren’t nobody ever buried there, an’ I’m to blame— 
I’m to blame.” 

‘‘And you did that for us,” cried Aldous, and suddenly 
he reached over and gripped old Donald’s hands. “It 
wasn’t a mistake, Mac. I thank God you kept silent. 
If you had told her that the grave was empty, that it was 
a fraud, I don’t know what would have happened. And 
now — she is mine! If she had seen Culver Rann, if she 
had discovered that this scoundrel, this blackmailer and 
murderer, was Mortimer FitzHugh, her husband ” 

“Johnny ! John Aldous ! ” 

Donald MacDonald’s voice came now like the deep 
growling roar of a she-bear, and as he cried the other’s 
name he sprang to his feet, and his eyes gleamed in their 
deep sockets like raging fires. 

“Johnny!” 

Aldous rose, and he was smiling. He nodded. 

“That’s it,” he said. “Mortimer FitzHugh is Culver 
Rann!” 

“An’ — an’ you know this?” 

“Absolutely. Joanne gave me Mortimer FitzHugh’s 
photograph to destroy. I am sorry that I burned it 
before you saw it. But there is no doubt. Mortimer 
FitzHugh and Culver Rann are the same man.” 

Slowly the old mountaineer turned to the door. Aldous 
was ahead of him, and stood with his hand on the 
knob. 

“I don’t want you to go yet, Mac.” 

“I — ^I’ll see you a little later,” said Donald clumsily. 

“Donald!” 

“Johunyl” 


THE HUNTED WOMAN 219 

For a full half minute they looked steadily into each 
other’s eyes. 

“Only a week, Johnny,” pleaded Donald. “I’ll be 
back in a week.” 

“You mean that you will kill him?” 

“He’ll never come back. I swear it, Johnny!” 

As gently as he might have led Joanne, Aldous drew 
the mountaineer back to the chair. 

“That would be cold-blooded murder,” he said, “and 
I would be the murderer. I can’t send you out to do my 
killing, Mac, as I might send out a hired assassin. Don’t 
you see that I can’t? Good heaven, some day — very 
soon — will tell you how this hoimd, Mortimer FitzHugh^ 
poisoned Joanne’s life, and did his worst to destroy her. 
It’s to me he’s got to answer, Donald. And to me he shall 
answer. I am going to kill him. But it will not be 
murder. Since you have come into this room I have 
made my final plan, and I shall follow it to the end coolly 
and deUberately. It will be a great game, Mac — and it 
will be a fair game; and I shall play it happily, because 
Joanne will not know, and I will be strengthened by her 
love. 

“Quade wants my life, and tried to hire Stevens, up at 
Miette, to kill me. Culver Rann wants my life; a little 
later it will come to be the greatest desire of his existence 
to have me dead and out of the way. I shall give him the 
chance to do the killing, Mac. I shall give him a splendid 
chance, and he will not fail to accept his opportunity. 
Perhaps he will have an advantage, but I am as absolutely 
certain of killing him as I am that the sim is going down 
behind the mountains out there. If others should step 


220 


THE HUNTED WOMAN 


in, if I should have more than Culver Rann on my hands-^ 
why, then you may deal yourself a hand if you like, 
Donald. It may be a bigger game than One against 
One.” 

“It will,” rumbled MacDonald. “I learned other 
things early this afternoon, Johnny. Quade did not stay 
behind. He went with Rann. DeBar and the woman 
are with them, and two other men. They went over the 
Lone Cache Pass, and this minute are hurrying straight 
for the headwaters of the Parsnip. There are five of 
’em — ^five men.” 

“And we are two,” smiled Aldous. “So there is an 
advantage on their side, isn’t there, Mac? And it makes 
the game most eminently fair, doesn’t it?” 

“Johnny, we’re good for the five!” cried old Donald in 
a low, eager voice. “If we start now ” 

“Can you have everything ready by morning?” 

“The outfit’s waiting. It’s ready now, Johnny.” 

“Then we’ll leave at dawn. I’ll come to you to-night 
in the coulee, and we’ll make our final plans. My brain 
is a little muddled now, and I’ve got to clear it, and make 
myself presentable before supper. We must not let 
Joanne know. She must suspect nothing — absolutely 
nothing.” 

“Nothing,” repeated MacDonald as he went to the 
door. 

There he paused and, hesitating for a moment, leaned 
close to Aldous, and said in a low voice: 

“Johnny, I’ve been wondering why the grave were 
empty. I’ve been wondering why there weren’t some- 
body’s bones there just t’ give it the look it should ’a’ had* 


THE HUNTED WOMAN 221 

an* why the clothes were laid out so nicely with the watch 
an’ the ring on top!” 

With that he was gone, and Aldous closed and relocked 
the door. 

He was amazed at his own composure as he washed 
himself and proceeded to dress for supper. What had 
happened had stunned him at first, had even terrified him 
for a few appalling moments. Now he was superbly self- 
possessed. He asked himself questions and answered 
them with a promptness which left no room for doubt in 
his mind as to what his actions should be. One fact he 
accepted as absolute: Joanne belonged to him. She was 
his wife. He regarded her as that, even though Mortimer 
FitzHugh was alive. In the eyes of both God and man 
FitzHugh no longer had a claim upon her. This man, 
who was known as Culver Rann, was worse than Quade, 
a scoimdrel of the first water, a procurer, a blackmailer, 
even a murderer — though he had thus far succeeded in 
evading the rather loose and poorly working tentacles of 
mountain law. 

Not for an instant did he think of Joanne as Culver 
Rann’s wife. She was his wife. It was merely a tech- 
nicality of the law — a technicality that Joanne might 
break with her little finger — that had risen now between 
them and happiness. And it was this that he knew was 
the mountain in his path, for he was certain that Joanne 
would not break that last link of bondage. She would 
know, with Mortimer FitzHugh alive, that the pledge 
between them in the ‘‘coyote,” and the marriage ceremony 
in the room below, meant nothing. Legally, she was no 
more to him now than she was yesterday, or the day before. 


222 


THE HUNTED WOMAN 


And she would leave him, even if it destroyed her, hea?C 
and soul. He was sure of that. For years she had 
sufiFered her heart to be ground out of her because of the 
‘^bit of madness” that was in her, because of that earlier 
tragedy in her life — and her promise, her pledge to her 
father, her God, and herself. Without arguing a possible 
change in her because of her love for him, John Aldous 
accepted these things. He believed that if he told Joanne 
the truth he would lose her. 

His determination not to tell her, to keep from her the 
secret of the grave and the fact that Mortimer FitzHugh 
was alive, grew stronger in him with each breath that he 
drew. He believed that it was the right thing to do, that 
it was the honourable and the only thing to do. Now that 
the first shock was over, he did not feel that he had lost 
Joanne, or that there was a very great danger of losing 
her. For a moment it occurred to him that he might 
turn the law upon Culver Rann, and in the same breath 
he laughed at this absurdity. The law could not help 
him. He alone could work out his own and Joanne’s 
salvation. And what was to happen must happen very 
soon — up in the moimtains. When it was all over, and 
he returned, he would tell Joanne. 

His heart beat more quickly as he finished dressing. In 
a few minutes more he would be with Joanne, and in 
spite of what had happened, and what might happen, he 
was happy. Yesterday he had dreamed. To-day was 
reality — and it was a glorious reality. Joanne belonged 
to him. She loved him. She was his wife, and when he 
went to her it was with the feeling that only a serpent lay 
in the path of their paradise — sl serpent whi/Jb he would 


THE HUNTED WOMAN 


m 


crush with as little compunction as that serpent would 
have destroyed her. Utterly and remorselessly his mind 
was made up. 

The Blacktons’ supper hour was five-thirty, and he was 
a quarter of an hour late when he tapped at Joanne’s 
door. He felt the warmth of a strange and delightful 
embarrassment flushing his face as the door opened, and 
she stood before him. In her face, too, was a telltale 
riot of colour which the deep tan partly concealed in his 
own. 

‘‘I — I am a little late, am I not, Joanne?” he asked. 

“You are, sir. If you have taken all this time dressing 
you are worse than a woman. I have been waiting fifteen 
minutes!” 

“Old Donald came to see me,” he apologized. 
“Joanne ” 

“You mustn’t, John!’' she expostulated in a whisper. 
“My face is afire now! You mustn’t kiss me again— 
until after supper ” 

“Only once,” he pleaded. 

“If you will promise — ^just once ” 

A moment later she gasped: 

“Five times! John Aldous, I will never believe you 
again as long as I live!” 

They went down to the Blacktons, and Peggy and Paul, 
who were busy over some growing geraniums in the dining- 
room window, faced about with a forced and incongruous 
appearance of total oblivion to everything that had hap- 
pened. It lasted less than ten seconds. Joanne’s lips 
quivered. Aldous saw the two little dimples at the corners 
of her mouth fighting to keep themselves out of sight— 


m 


THE HUNTED WOMAN 


and then he looked at Peggy. Blackton could stand it 
no longer, and grinned broadly. 

“For goodness sake go to it, Peggy!” he laughed. “If 
you don’t you’ll explode!” 

The next moment Peggy and Joanne were in each other’s 
arms, and the two men were shaking hands. 

“We know just how you feel,” Blackton tried to ex- 
plain. “We felt just like you do, only we had to face 
twenty people instead of two. And you’re not hungry. 
I’ll wager that. I’ll bet you don’t feel like swallowing a 
mouthful. It had that peculiar eflFect on us, didn’t it, 
Peggy?’’ 

“And I — I almost choked myself,” gurgled Peggy as 
they took their places at the table. “There really did 
seem to be something thick in my throat, Joanne, dear. 
I coughed and coughed and coughed before all those people 
until I wanted to die right there ! And I’m wondering ” 

“If I’m going to choke, too?” smiled Joanne. “Indeed 
not, Peggy. I’m as hungry as a bear!” 

And now she did look glorious and self-possessed to 
Aldous as she sat opposite him at that small round table, 
which was just fitted for four. He told her so when the 
meal was finished, and they were following the Blacktons 
into the front room. Blackton had evidently been care- 
fully drilled along the line of a certain scheme which Peggy 
had formed, for in spite of a negative nod from her, which 
signified that he was to wait a while, he pulled out his 
watch, and said: 

“It isn’t at all smprising if you people have forgotten 
that to-morrow is Sunday. Peggy and I always do some 
Satiu*day-night shopping, and if you don’t mind, we’ll 


THE HUNTED WOMAN £25 

leave you to care for the house while we go to town. We 
won’t be gone more than an hour.” 

A few minutes later, when the door had closed behind 
them, Aldous led Joanne to a divan, and sat down beside 
her. 

couldn’t have arranged it better myself, dear,” he 
exclaimed. I have been wondering how I could have you 
alone for a few minutes, and tell you what is on my mind 
before I see MacDonald again to-night. I’m afraid you 
will be displeased with me, Joanne. I hardly know how to 
begin. But — I’ve got to.” 

A moment’s uneasiness came into her eyes as she saw 
how seriously he was speaking. 

“You don’t mean, John — there’s more about Quade — ^ 
and Culver Rann?” 

“No, no — ^nothing like that,” he laughed, as though 
amused at the absurdity of her question. “Old Donald 
tells me they have skipped the country, Joanne. It’s not 
that. It’s you I’m thinking of, and what you may think 
of me a minute from now. Joanne, I’ve given my word 
to old Donald. He has lived in my promise. I’ve got 
to keep that promise — ^I must go into the North with 
him.” 

She had drawn one of his hands into her lap and was 
fondling it with her own soft palm and fingers. 

“Of course, you must, John. I love old Donald.” 

“And I must go — soon,” he added. 

“It is only fair to him that you should,” she agreed. 

“He — ^he is determined we shall go in the morning,” he 
finished, keeping his eyes from her. 

For a moment Joanne did not answer. Her fingei:^ 


826 


THE HUNTED WOMAN 


interweaved with his, her warm little palm stroked thi 
rough back of his hand. Then she said, very softly: 

‘‘And why do you think that will displease me, John^ 
dear? I will be ready ! ” 

“You!” 

Her eyes were on him, full, and dark, and glowing, and 
in them were both love and laughter. 

“You dear silly John!” she laughed. “Why don^t 
you come right out and tell me to stay at home, instead 
of — of — ‘beating ’round the bush’ — as Peggy Blackton 
says? Only you don’t know what a terrible little person 
you’ve got, John. You really don’t. So you needn’t say 
any more. We’ll start in the morning — ^and I am going 
with you!” 

In a flash John Aldous saw his whole scheme shaking 
on its foundation. 

“It’s impossible — ^utterly impossible!” he gasped. 

“And why utterly?” she asked, bending her head so 
that her soft hair touched his face and lips. “John, have 
you already forgotten what we said in that terrible cavern 
— ^what we told omselves we would have done if we had 
lived? We were going adventuring, weren’t we? And 
we are not dead — ^but alive. And this will be a glorious 
trip! Why, John, don’t you see, don’t you understand? 
It will be our honeymoon trip!” 

“It will be a long, rough journey,” he argued. “It 
will be hard — ^hard for a woman.” 

With a little laugh, Joanne sprang up and stood before 
him in a glow of light, tall, and slim, and splendid, and 
there was a sparkle of beautT ul defiance and a little of 
triiimph in her eyes as she looked down on him. 


THE HUNTED WOMAN m 

’^And it will be dangerous, too? You are going to tell 
me that?” 

“Yes, it will be dangerous.” 

She came to him and rumpled up his hair, and turned 
his face up so that she could look into his eyes. 

“Is it worse than fever, and famine, and deep swamps, 
and crawling jungles?” she asked. “Are we going to en- 
counter worse things than beasts, and poisonous serpents, 
and murderous savages — even hunger and thirst, John? 
For many years we dared those together — my father and 
I. Are these great, big, beautiful mountains more treach- 
erous than those Ceylon jungles from which you ran away 
—even you, John? Are they more terrible to live in than 
the Great African Desert? Are your bears worse than 
tigers, your wolves more terrible than lions? And if, 
through years and years, I faced those things with my 
father, do you suppose that I want to be left behind now, 
and by my husband?” 

So sweet and wonderful was the sound of that name as 
it came softly from her lips, that in his joy he forgot the 
part he was playing, and drew her close down in his arms, 
and in that moment all that remained of the scheme he 
had built for keeping her behind crumbled in ruin about 
him. 

Yet in a last effort he persisted. 

“Old Donald wants to travel fast — very fast, Joanne. 
I owe a great deal to him. Even you I owe to him — ^for. 
he saved us from the ‘coyote.’ ” 

“I am going, John.” 

“If we went alone we would be able to return very soon*^ 

“I am going” 


228 


THE HUNTED WOMAN 


“And some of the mountains — it is impossible for a 
woman to climb them!” 

“Then I will let you carry me up them, John. You are 
so strong ” 

He groaned hopelessly. 

“Joanne, won’t you stay with the Blacktons, to please 
me?” 

“ No. I don’t care to please you.” 

Her fingexs were stroking his cheek. 

“John?” 

“Yes.” 

“Father taught me to shoot, and as we get better ac- 
quainted on our honeymoon trip I’ll tell you about some ot 
my hunting adventures. I don’t like to shoot wild things, 
because I love them too well. But I can shoot. And I 
want a gun!” 

“Great Scott!” 

“Not a toy — ^but a real gun,” she continued. “A gun 
like yoms. And then, if by any chance we should have 
trouble — ^with Culver Rann ” 

She felt him start, and her hands pressed harder against 
his face. 

“Now I know,” she whispered. “I guessed it all along. 
You told me that Culver Rann and the others were after 
the gold. They’ve gone — and their going isn’t quite 
‘skipping the country’ as you meant me to understand it, 
John Aldous! So please let’s not argue any more. If we 
do we may quarrel, and that would be terrible. I’m going. 
And I will be ready in the morning. And I want a gun. 
And I want you to be nice to me, and I want it to be our 
honeymoon — even if it m going to be exciting!” 


THE HUNTED WOMAN 229 

And with that she put her lips to his, and his last argu- 
ment was gone. 

Two hours later, when he went to the coulee, he was 
like one who had come out of a strange and disturbing 
and altogether glorious dream. He had told Joanne and 
the Blacktons that it was necessary for him to be with 
MacDonald that night. Joanne’s good-night kiss was 
still warm on his hps, the loving touch of her hands still 
trembled on his face, and the sweet perfume of her hair 
was in his nostrils. He was drunk with the immeasurable 
happiness that had come to him, every fibre in him was 
aquiver with it — and yet, possessed of his great joy, he 
was conscious of a fear; a fear that was new and growing, 
and which made him glad when he came at last to the 
little fire in the coulee. 

He did not tell MacDonald the cause of this fear at first. 
He told the story of Mortimer FitzHugh and Joanne, leav« 
ing no part of it unbared, until he could see Donald Mac- 
Donald’s great gaunt hands clenching in the firelight, and 
his cavernous eyes flaming darkly through the gloom. 
Then he told what had happened when the Blacktons 
went to town, and when he had finished, and rose despair- 
ingly beside the fire, Donald rose, too, and his voice boomed 
in a sort of ecstasy. 

“My Jane would ha’ done likewise,” he cried in triumph. 
“She would that, Johnny — ^she would!” 

“But this is different!” groaned Aldous. “What am I 
going to do, Mac? What can I do? Don’t you see how 
impossible it is! Mac, Mac — she isn’t my wife — ^not 
entirely, not absolutely, not in the last and vital sense of 
being a wife by law! If she knew the truth, she wouldn’t 


230 


THE HUNTED WOMAN 


consider herself my wife; she would leave me. For that 
reason I can’t take her. I can’t. Think what it would 
mean!” 

Old Donald had come close to his side, and at the look 
in the gray old mountaineer’s face John Aldous paused. 
Slowly Donald laid his hands on his shoulders. 

“Johnny,” he said gently, “Johnny, be you sure of 
yoimself ? Be you a man, Johnny? ” 

“Good heaven, Donald. You mean ” 

Their eyes met steadily. 

“K you are, Johnny,” went on MacDonald in a low 
voice, “I’d take her with me. An’ if you ain’t, I’d leave 
these mount’ins to-night an’ never look in her sweet face 
again as long as I lived.” 

“You’d take her along?” demanded Aldous eagerly. 

“I would. I’ve been thinkin’ it over to-night. An* 
something seemed to tell me we mustn’t dare leave her 
here alone. There’s just two things to do, Johnny. 
You’ve got to stay with her an’ let me go on alone or — • 
you’ve got to take her.” 

Slowly Aldous shook his head. He looked at his watch. 
It was a little after ten. 

“If I could make myself believe that she would not be 
safe here — I would take her,” he said. “But I can’t 
quite make up my mind to that, Mac. She will be in 
good hands with the Blacktons. I will warn Paul. Joanne 
is determined to go, and I know she will think it pretty 
indecent to be told emphatically that she can’t go. But 
I’ve got to do it. I can’t see ” 

A break in the stillness of the night stopped him with 
the suddenness of a bullet in his brain. It was a scream— ^ 


THE HUNTED WOMAN 


231 


a woman’s scream, and there followed it shriek after 
shriek, until the black forest trembled with the fear and 
agony of the cries, and John Aldous stood as if suddenly 
stripped of the power to move or act. Donald MacDonald 
roused him to life. With a roar in his beard, he sprang 
forth into the darkness. And Aldous followed, a hot 
sweat of fear in his blood where a moment before had been 
only a chill of wonder and horror. For in Donald’s savage 
beastUke cry he had caught Joanne’s name, and an 
answering cry broke from his own lips as he followed the 
great gaunt form that was tearing with the madness of a 
wounded bear ahead of him through the night. 


CHAPTER XXn 


N ot until they had rushed up out of the coulee and 
had reached the pathlike trail did the scream- 
ing cease. For barely an instant MacDonald 
paused, and then ran on with a speed that taxed Aldous 
to keep up. When they came to the little open amphi- 
theatre in the forest MacDonald halted again. Their 
hearts were thumping like hammers, and the old mountain- 
eer’s voice came husky and choking when he spoke. 

“It wasn’t far — ^from here!” he panted. 

Scarcely had he uttered the words when he sped on 
again. Three minutes later they came to where the trail 
crossed the edge of a small rock-cluttered meadow, and 
with a sudden spurt Aldous darted ahead of MacDonald 
into this opening, where he saw two figures in the moon- 
light. Half a dozen feet from them he stopped with a cry 
of horror. They were Paul and Peggy Blackton! Peggy 
was dishevelled and sobbing, and was frantically clutching 
at her husband. It was Paul Blackton who dragged the 
cry from his lips. The contractor was swaying. He was 
hatless; his face was covered with blood, and his eyes 
were only half open, as if he were fighting to pull him- 
self back into consciousness after a terrible blow. Peggy’s 
hair was down, her dress was torn at the throat, and 
she was panting so that for a moment she could not 
speak. 


232 


THE HUNTED WOMAN ^ 2S3 

** They Ve got — ^Joanne ! ” zhe cried then. They went— 

there!” 

She pointed, and AJdous ran where she pointed — ^into 
the timber on the far side of the little meadow. Macr 
Donald caught his arm as they ran. 

‘‘You go straight in,” he commanded. “I’ll swing — to 
right — toward river ” 

For two minutes after that AJdous tore straight ahead. 
Then for barely a moment he stopped. He had not paused 
to question Peggy Blackton. His own fears told him who 
Joanne’s abductors were. They were men working imder 
instructions from Quade. And they could not be far 
away, for scarcely ten minutes had passed since the first 
scream. He listened, and held his breath so that the 
terrific beating of his heart would not drown the sound of 
crackling brush. All at once the blood in him was frozen 
by a fierce yell. It was MacDonald, a couple of hundred 
yards to his right, and after that yell came the bellowing 
shout of his name. 

“Johnny! Johnny! Oh, Johnny!” 

He dashed in MacDonald’s direction, and a few moments 
later heard the crashing of bodies in the imdergrowth. 
Fifty seconds mere and he was in the arena. MacDonald 
was fighting three men in a space over which the spruce- 
tops grew thinly. The moon shone upon them as they 
swayed in a struggling mass, and as Aldous sprang to the 
combat one of the three reeled backward and fell as if 
struck by a battering-ram. In that same moment Mac- 
Donald went down, and AJdous struck a terrific blow with 
the butt of his heavy Savage. He missed, and the mo- 
mentum of his blow carried him over MacDonald. He 


534 


THE HUNTED WOMAN 


tripped and fell. By the time he had regained his feet 
the two men had disappeared into the thick shadows of 
the spruce forest. Aldous whirled toward the third man, 
whom he had seen fall. He, too, had disappeared. A little 
lamely old Donald brought himself to his feet. He was 
smiling. 

‘‘Now, what do ’ee think, Johnny?” 

“Where is she? Where is Joanne?” demanded Aldous. 

“Twenty feet behind you, Johnny, gagged an’ trussed 
up nice as a whistle! If they hadn’t stopped to do that 
work you wouldn’t ha’ seen her ag’in, Johnny^ — s’elp me, 
God, you wouldn’t! They was hikin’ for the river. Once 
they had reached the Frazer, and a boat ” 

He broke off to lead Aldous to a clump of dwarf spruce. 
Behind this, white and still in the moonlight, but with 
eyes wide open and filled with horror, lay Joanne. Hands 
and feet were bound, and a big handkerchief was tied over 
her mouth. Twenty seconds later Aldous held her shiver- 
ing and sobbing and laughing hysterically by turns in his 
arms, while MacDonald’s voice brought Paul and Peggy 
Blackton to them. Blackton had recovered from the 
blow that had dazed him. Over Joanne’s head he stared 
at Aldous. And MacDonald was staring at Blackton. 
His eyes were burning a little darkly. 

“It’s all come out right,” he said, “but it ain’t a special 
nice time o’ night to be taking a’ evening walk in this 
locality with a couple o’ ladies!” 

Blackton was still staring at Aldous, with Peggy clutch- 
ing his arm as if afraid of losing him. 

It was Peggy who answered MacDonald. 

“And it was a nice time of night for you to send a 


THE HUNTED WOMAN 235 

message asking us to bring Joanne down the trail!” she 
cried, her voice trembling. 

‘‘We ” began Aldous, when he saw a sudden warning 

movement on MacDonald’s part, and stopped. “Let us 
take the ladies home,” he said. 

With Joanne clinging to him, he led the way. Behind 
them all MacDonald growled loudly: 

“There’s got t’ be something done with these danmed 
beasts of furriners. It’s gettin’ so no woman ain’t safe at 
night!” 

Twenty minutes later they reached the bungalow. 
Leaving Joanne and Peggy inside, now as busily excited 
as two phoebe birds, and after Joanne had insisted upon 
Aldous sleeping at the Blacktons’ that night, the two men 
accompanied MacDonald a few steps on his way back to 
camp. 

As soon as they were out of earshot Blackton began 
cmsing softly imder his breath. 

“So you didn’t send that danmed note?” he asked. 
“You haven’t said so, but I’ve guessed you didn’t send 
it!” 

“No, we didn’t send a note.” 

“And you had a reason — ^you and MacDonald — ^for not 
wanting the girls to know the truth?” 

“A mighty good reason,” said Aldous. “I’ve got to 
thank MacDonald for closing my mouth at the right 
moment. I was about to give it away. And now. Black- 
ton, I’ve got to confide in you. But before I do that I 
want your word that you will repeat nothing of what I 
say to another person — even your wife.” 

Blackton nodded 


THE HUNTED WOMAN 


‘‘Go on,” he said. “I’ve suspected a thing or two, 
Aldous. I’ll give you my word. Go on.” 

As briefly as possible, and without going deeply into 
detail, Aldous told of Quade and his plot to secure posses- 
sion of Joanne. 

“And this is his work,” he finished. “I’ve told you 
this, Paul, so that you won’t worry about Peggy. You 
can see from to-night’s events that they were not after 
her, but wanted Joanne. Joanne must not learn the truth. 
And your wife must not know. I am going to settle with 
Quade. Just how and where and when I’m going to settle 
with him I don’t care to say now. But he’s going to 
answer to me. And he’s going to answer soon.” 

Blackton whistled softly. 

“A boy brought the note,” he said. “He stood in the 
dark when he handed it to me. And I didn’t recognize 
any one of the three men who jumped out on us. I didn’t 
have much of a chance to fight, but if there’s any one on 
the face of the earth who has got it over Peggy when it 
comes to screaming, I’d like to know her name! Joanne 
didn’t have time to make a sound. But they didn’t touch 
Peggy until she began screaming, and then one of the men 
began choking her. They had about laid me out with a 
club, so I was helpless. Good God ” 

He shuddered. 

“They were river men,” said MacDonald. “Probably 
some of Tomman’s scow-men. They were making for the 
river.” 

A few minutes later, when Aldous was saying good-night 
to MacDonald, the old hunter said again, in a whisper: 

Now what do ’ee think, Johnny? ” 


THE HUNTED WOMAN 


2S7 


“That you’re right, Mac,” replied Aldous in a low 
voice. “There is no longer a choice. Joanne must go 
with us. You will come early?” 

“At dawn, Johnny.” 

He returned to the bungalow with Blackton, and until 
midnight the lights there burned brightly while the two 
men answered a thousand questions about the night’s 
adventure, and Aldous told of his and Joanne’s plans for 
the honeymoon trip into the North that was to begin the 
next day. 

It was half-past twelve when he locked the door of his 
room and sat down to think. 


CHAPTER XXni 


T here was no doubt in the mind of John Aldous 
now. The attempt upon Joanne left him but one 
course to pursue: he must take her with him, in 
spite of the monumental objections which he had seen a 
few hours before. He realized what a fight this would 
mean for him, and with what cleverness and resource he 
must play his part. Joanne had not given herself to him 
as she had once given herself to Mortimer FitzHugh. In 
the “coyote,” when they had faced death, she had told 
him that were there to be a to-morrow in life for them she 
would have given herself to him utterly and without 
reservation. And that to-morrow had dawned. It was 
present. She was his wife. And she had come to him as 
she had promised. In her eyes he had seen love and trust 
and faith — and a glorious happiness. She had made no 
effort to hide that happiness from him. Consciousness of 
it filled him with his own great happiness, and yet it made 
him realize even more deeply how hard his fight was to 
be. She was his wife. In a hundred little ways she had 
shown him that she was proud of her wifehood. And again 
he told himself that she had come to him as she had prom- 
ised, that she had given into his keeping all that she had 
to give. And yet — she was not his wife! 

He groaned aloud, and his fingers dug into the flesh of 
his knees as he thought of that. Could he keep that 
238 


THE HUNTED WOMAN 


239 


terrible truth from her? If she went with him into the 
North, would she not guess? And, even though he kept 
the truth from her until Mortimer FitzHugh was dead, 
would he be playing fair with her? Again he went over 
all that he had gone over before. He knew that Joanne 
would leave him to-morrow, and probably forever, if he 
told her that FitzHugh was ahve. The law could not help 
him, for only death — and never divorce — ^would free her. 
Within himself he decided for the last time. He was about 
to do the one thing left for him to do. And it was the 
honourable thing, for it meant freedom for her and happiness 
for them both. To him, Donald MacDonald had become 
a man who lived very close to the heart and the right of 
things, and Donald had said that he should take her* 
This was the greatest proof that he was right. 

But could he keep Joanne from guessing? Could he 
keep her from discovering the truth until it was time 
for her to know that truth? In this necessity of keeping 
her from suspecting that something was wrong he saw 
his greatest fight. Compared with it, the final settlement 
with Quade and Mortimer FitzHugh sank into a second 
importance. He knew what would happen then. But 
Joanne — ^Joanne on the trail, as his wife 

He began pacing back and forth in his room, clouding 
himself in the smoke of his pipe. Frequently Joanne’s 
mind had filled him with an exquisite delight by its quick- 
ness and at times almost magic perceptiveness, and he re- 
alized that in these things, and the fineness of her woman’s 
intuition, now lay his greatest menace. He was sure 
that she imderstood the meaning of the assault upon 
her that night, though she had apparently believed what 


THE HUNTED WOMAN 


m 

he and Blackton had told them — that it had been the 
attack of irresponsible and dninken hoodlums. Yet he 
was certain that she had already guessed that Quade had 
been responsible. 

He went to bed, dreading what questions and new de- 
velopments the morning might bring forth. And when 
the morning came, he was both amazed and delighted. The 
near tragedy of the previous night might never have hap- 
pened in so far as he could judge from Joanne’s appearance. 
When she came out of her room to meet him, in the glow of 
a hall lamp, her eyes were like stars, and the colour in her 
cheeks was like that of a rose fresh from its slumber in dew. 

“I’m so happy, and what happened last night seems so 
like a bad dream,” she whispered, as he held her close 
him for a few moments before descending the stairs. “I 
shall worry about Peggy, John. I shall. I don’t under- 
stand how her husband dares to bring her among savages 
like these. You wouldn’t leave me among them, would 
you?” And as she asked the question, and his lips pressed 
hers, John Aldous still believed that in her heart she knew 
the truth of that night attack. 

If she did know, she kept her secret from him all that 
day. They left T6te Jaune before sunrise with an outfit 
which MacDonald had cut down to six horses. Its small- 
ness roused Joanne’s first question, for Aldous had de- 
scribed to her an outfit of twenty horses. He explained 
that a large outfit made travel much more diflScult and 
slow, but he did not tell her that with six horses instead 
of twenty they could travel less conspicuously, more easily 
conceal themselves from enemies, and, if necessary, make 
quick flight or swift pursuit. 


THE HUNTED WOMAN 


m 


They stopped to camp for the night in a little basin 
that drew from Joanne an exclamation of joy and wonder. 
They had reached the upper timber-line, and on three 
sides the basin was shut in by treeless and brush-naked 
walls of the mountains. In the centre of the dip was a 
lake fed by a tiny stream that fell in a series of ribbonlike 
cataracts a sheer thousand feet from the snow-peaks that 
towered above them. Small, parklike clumps of spruce 
dotted the miniature valley; over it hung a sky as blue as 
sapphire and under their feet was a carpet of soft grass 
sprayed with little blue forget-me-nots and wild asters. 

‘T have never seen anything a half so beautiful as this!” 
cried Joanne, as Aldous helped her from her horse. 

As her feet touched the ground she gave a little cry and 
hung limply in his arms. 

‘"I’m lame — ^lame for life!” she laughed in mock humour. 
’^John, I can’t stand. I really can’t!” 

Old Donald was chuckling in his beard as he came up. 

“You ain’t nearly so lame as you’ll be to-morrow,” he 
comforted her. “An’ you won’t be nearly so lame to- 
morrow as you’ll be next day. Then you’ll begin to get 
used to it. Mis’ Joanne.” 

** Mrs. Aldous^ Donald,” she corrected sweetly. “Or — 
just Joanne.” 

At that Aldous found himself holding her so closely that 
she gave a little gasp. 

“Please don’t,” she expostulated. “Your arms are ter- 
ribly strong, John!” 

MacDonald had turned away, still chuckling, and began 
to impack. Joanne looked behind her, then quickly held 
up her softly pouted lips. Aldous kissed her, and would 


242 


THE HUNTED WOMAN 


have kissed her again but she slipped suddenly from his 
arms and going to Pinto began to untie a dishpan that 
was fastened to the top of his pack. 

“Get to work, John Aldous!’’ she commanded. 

MacDonald had camped before in the basin, and there 
were tepee poles ready cut, as light and dry as match'* 
wood. Joanne watched them as they put up the tent, and 
when it was done, and she looked inside, she cried de^ 
lightedly: 

“It’s the snuggest little home I ever had, John!” 

After that she busied herself in a way that was a com 
stantly growing pleasure to him. She took possession 
at once of pots and pans and kettles. She lost no time in 
impressing upon both Aldous and MacDonald the fact 
that while she was their docile follower on the trail she 
was to be at the head of affairs in camp. While they were 
straightening out the outfit, hobbling the horses, and 
building a fiire, she rummaged through the panniers and 
took stock of their provisions. She bossed old Donald 
in a manner that made him fairly glow with pleasure* 
She bared her white arms to the elbows and made biscuits 
for the “reflector” instead of bannock, while Aldous brought 
water from the lake, and MacDonald cut wood. Her 
cheeks were aflame. Her eyes were laughing, joyous,, 
happy. MacDonald seemed years younger. He obeyed 
her like a boy, and once Aldous caught him looking at 
her in a way that set him thinking again of those days 
of years and years ago, and of other camps, and of another 
woman — ^like Joanne. 

MacDonald had thought of this first camp — ^and there 
were porterhouse steaks for supper, which he had brought 


THE HUNTED WOMAN 


&43 


packed in a kettle of ice. When they sat down to the 
meal, Joanne was facing a distant snow-capped ridge that 
cut the skyline, and the last of the sun, reflected from the 
face of the mountain on the east, had set brown-and-gold 
fires aglow in her hair. They were partly through when 
her eyes rested on the distant snow-ridge. Aldous saw 
her looking steadily. Suddenly she pointed beyond him. 

‘‘I see something moving over the snow on that moun- 
tain!” she cried a httle excitedly. ‘‘It is hurrying toward 
the summit — ^just imder the skyline! What is it?” 

Aldous and MacDonald looked toward the ridge. 
Fully a mile away, almost even with the skyline now, a 
small dark object was moving over the white surface of 
the snow. 

^It ain’t a goat,” said MacDonald, “because a goat is 
white, and we couldn’t see it on the snow. It ain’t a 
sheep, ’cause it’s too dark, an’ movin’ too slow. It must 
be a bear, but why in the name o’ sin a bear would be 
that high, I don’t know!” 

He jumped up and ran for his telescope. 

“A grizzly,” whispered Joanne tensely. “Would it 
be a grizzly, John?” 

“Possibly,” he answered. “Indeed, it’s very likely. 
This is a grizzly country. If we hurry you can get a look 
at him through the telescope.” 

MacDonald was already studying the object through 
bis long glass when they joined him. 

“It’s a bear,” he said. 

“Please — ^please let me look at him,” begged Joanne. 

The dark object was now almost on the skyline. Half 
a minute more and it would pass over and out of sight. 


244 


THE HUNTED WOMAN 


MacDonald still held his eye to the telescope, as though he 
had not heard Joanne. Not until the moving object 
had crossed the skyline, and had disappeared, did he reply 
to her. 

✓ “The light’s bad, an’ you couldn’t have made him out 
very well,” he said. “We’ll show you plenty o’ grizzlies, 
an’ so near you won’t want a telescope. Eh, Johnny? ” 

As he looked at Aldous there was a strange look in his 
eyes, and during the remainder of the supper he was rest- 
less, and ate hurriedly. When he had finished he rose and 
picked up his long rifle. 

“There’s sheep somewhere near this basin, Johnny,” he 
explained. “An’ I reckon Joanne’ll scold us if we don’t 
keep her in fresh meat. I’m goin’ to bring in some mut- 
ton if there’s any to be got, an’ I probably won’t be back 
until after dark.” 

Aldous knew that he had more to say, and he went with 
him a few steps beyond the camp. 

And MacDonald continued in a low, troubled voice: 

“Be careful, Johnny. Watch yo’rself. I’m going to 
take a look over into the next valley, an’ I won’t be back 
until late. It wasn’t a goat, an’ it wasn’t a sheep, an’ it 
wasn’t a bear. It was two-legged! It was a man, 
Johnny, an’ he was there to watch this trail, or my name 
ain’t Donald MacDonald. Mebby he came ahead of us 
last night, an’ mebby he was here before that happened. 
Anyway, be on your guard while I look over into the next 
range.” 

With that he struck off in the direction of the snow-ridge, 
and for a few moments Aldous stood looking after the 
talk picturesque figure until it disappeared behind a clump 


THE HUNTED WOMAN 


245 


di spruce. Swiftly he was telling himself that it was not 
the hunting season, and that it was not a prospector whom 
they had seen on the snow-ridge. As a matter of caution, 
there could be but one conclusion to draw. The man had 
been stationed there either by Quade or FitzHugh, or 
both, and had unwittingly revealed himself. 

He turned toward Joanne, who had already begun to 
gather up the supper things. He could hear her singing 
happily, and as he looked she pressed a finger to her lips 
and threw a kiss to him. His heart smote him even as he 
smiled and waved a hand in response. Then he went to 
her. How slim and wonderful she looked in that glow of 
the setting sim, he thought. How white and soft were 
her hands, how tender and fragile her lovely neck! And 
how helpless — ^how utterly helpless she would be if any- 
thing happened to him and MacDonald! With an effort 
he flung the thought from him. On his knees he wiped 
the dishes and pots and pans for Joanne. When this 
was done, he seized an axe and showed her how to gather 
a bed. This was a new and delightful experience for 
Joanne. 

"‘You always want to cut balsam boughs when you can 
get them,” he explained, pausing before two small trees. 
'"Now, this is a cedar, and this is a balsam. Notice how 
prickly and needlelike on all sides these cedar branches 
are. And now look at the balsam. The needles lay flat 
and soft. Balsam makes the best bed you can get in the 
North, except moss, and you’ve got to dry the moss.” 

For fifteen minutes he clipped off the soft ends of tha 
balsam limbs and Joanne gathered them in her arms and 
carried them into the tepee. Then he went in with her. 


S46 


THE HUNTED WOMAN 


and showed her how to make the bed. He made it a 
narrow bed, and a deep bed, and he knew that Joanne was 
watching him, and he was glad the tan hid the uncom- 
fortable glow in his face when he had finished tucking in 
the end of the last blanket. 

“You will be as cozy as can be in that,” he said. 

“And you, John?” she asked, her face fiushing rosily, 
haven’t seen another tent for you and Donald.” 

“We don’t sleep in a tent during the summer,” he said* 
“Just our blankets — out in the open.” 

“But — if it should rain?” 

“We get under a balsam or a spruce or a thick cedar.” 

A little later they stood beside the fire. It was grow- 
ing dusk. The distant snow-ridge was swiftly fading into 
a pale and ghostly sheet in the gray gloom of the night. 
Up that ridge Aldous knew that MacDonald was toiling. 

Joanne put her hands to his shoulders, 
i “Are you sorry — ^so very, very sorry that you let me 
come, John?” 

“I didn’t let you come,” he laughed softly, drawing her 
to him. “You came ! ” 

“And are you sorry?” 

^‘No.” 

It was deliciously sweet to have her tilt up her head and 
put her soft lips to his, and it was still sweeter when her 
tender hands stroked his cheeks, and eyes and lips smiled 
their love and gladness. He stood stroking her hair, 
with her face laying warm and close against him, and over 
her head he stared into the thickening darkness of the 
spruce and cedar copses. Joanne herself had piled woo<^ 
on the fire, and in its glow they were dangerously illumf 


THE HUNTED WOMAN 247 

'nated. With one of her hands she was still caressing his 
cheek. 

“When will Donald return?” she asked. 

“Probably not until late,” he replied, wondering what 
it was that had set a stone rolling down the side of the 
mountain nearest to them. “He hunted until dark, and 
may wait for the moon to come up before he returns.” 

“John ” 

“Yes, dear ” And mentally he measured the dis- 

tance to the nearest clump of timber between them and the 
mountain. 

“Let’s build a big fire, and sit down on the pannier 
canvases.” 

His eyes were still on the timber, and he was wondering 
what a man with a rifle, or even a pistol, might do at that 
space. He made a good target, and MacDonald was prob- 
ably several miles away. 

“I’ve been thinking about the fire,” he said. “We 
must put it out, Joanne. There are reasons why we should 
5iot let it burn. For one thing, the smoke will drive any 
game away that we may hope to see in the morning.” 

Her hands lay still against his cheek. 

“I — understand, John,” she replied quickly, and there 
was the smallest bit of a shudder in her voice. “I had for- 
gotten. We must put it out ! ” 

Five minutes later only a few glowing embers remained 
where the fire had been. He had spread out the pannier 
Ijanvases, and now he seated himseK with his back to a 
tree. Joanne snuggled close to him. 

“It is much nicer in the dark,” she whispered, and her 
arms reached up about him, and her lips pressed warm 


^48 THE HUNTED WOMAN 

and soft against his hand. ‘‘Are you just a little ashamed 
of me, John?” 

“Ashamed? Good heaven ” 

“Because,” she interrupted him, “we have known each 
other such a very short time, and I have allowed myself 
to become so very, very well acquainted with you. It has 
all been so delightfully sudden, and strange, and I am — 
just as happy as I can be. You don’t think it is immodest 
for me to say these things to my husband, John — even if I 
have only known him three days?” 

He answered by crushing her so closely in his arms that 
for a few moments afterward she lay helplessly on his 
breast, gasping for breath. His brain was afire with the 
joyous madness of possession. Never had woman come 
to man more sweetly than Joanne had come to him, and 
as he felt her throbbing and trembling against him he was 
ready to rise up and shout forth a challenge to a hundred 
Quades and Culver Ranns hiding in the darkness of the 
mountains. For a long time he held her nestled close ip 
his arms, and at intervals there were silences betweeu 
them, in which they listened to the glad tumult of their 
own hearts, and the strange silence that came to them 
from out of the still night. 

It was their first hour alone — of utter oblivion to ah 
else but themselves; to Joanne the first sacrament hour of 
her wifehood, to him the first hour of perfect possession 
and understanding. In that hour their souls became one, 
and when at last they rose to their feet, and the moon 
came up over a crag of the mountain and flooded them in 
its golden light, there was in Joanne’s face a tenderness 
end a gentle glory that made John Aldous think of an 


THE HUNTED WOMAN 


249 


angel. He led her to the tepee, and lighted a candle 
for her, and at the last, with the sweet demand of a child 
in the manner of her doing it, she pursed up her lips to be 
kissed good-night. 

And when he had tied the tent-flap behind her, he took 
his rifle and sat down with it across his knees in the 
deep black shadow of a spruce, and waited and listened 
for the coming of Donald MacDonald. 


CHAPTER XXIV 


F or an hour after Joanne had gone into her tent 
Aldous sat silent and watchful. From where he 
had concealed himself he could see over a part of 
the moonlit basin, and guard the open space between the 
camp and the clump of timber that lay in the direction 
of the nearest mountain. After Joanne had blown out her 
candle the silence of the night seemed to grow deeper about 
him. The hobbled horses had wandered several hundred 
yards away, and only now and then could he hear the thud 
of a hoof, or the clank of a steel shoe on rock. He believed 
that it was impossible for any one to approach without 
ears and eyes giving him warning, and he felt a distinct 
shock when Donald MacDonald suddenly appeared in the 
moonlight not twenty paces from him. With an ejac^ 
ulation of amazement he jumped to his feet and went to 
him. 

“How the deuce did you get here?” he demanded. 
“Were you asleep, Johnny? ” 

“I was awake — and watching!” 

The old hunter chuckled. 

“It was so still when I come to those trees back there 
that I thought mebby something had ’appened,” he said. 
“So, I sneaked up, Johnny.” 

“Did you see anything over the range?” asked Aldous 
anxiously. 

m 


THE HUNTED WOMAN 


251 


found footprints in the snow, an’ when I got to the 
lop I smelled smoke, but couldn’t see a fire. It was dark 
then.” MacDonald nodded toward the tepee. ‘Ts she 
asleep, Johnny? ” 

‘‘I think so. She must be very tired.” 

They drew back into the shadow of the spruce. , It wag 
a simultaneous movement of caution, and both, without 
speaking their thoughts, realized the significance of it. 
Until now they had had no opportunity of being alone 
since last night. 

MacDonald spoke in a low, muflSed voice: 

‘‘Quade an’ Culver Rann are goin’ the limit, Johnny,’* 
he said. ‘‘They left men on the job at Tete Jaune, and 
they’ve got others watching us. Consequently, I’ve hit 
on a scheme — a sort of simple and onreasonable scheme^ 
mebby, but an awful good scheme at times.” 

“What is it?” 

“Whenever you see anything that ain’t a bear, or a goat, 
or a sheep, don’t wait to change the time o’ day — ^but 
4hoot ! ” said MacDonald. 

Aldous smiled grimly. 

“If I had any ideas of chivalry, or what I call fair play, 
they were taken out of me last night, Mac,” he said. 
“I’m ready to shoot on sight!” 

MacDonald grunted his satisfaction. 

“They can’t beat us if we do that, Johnny. They ain’t 
even ordinary cut-throats — they’re sneaks in the bargain; 
an’ if they could walk in om camp, smilin’ an’ friendly, and 
brain us when our backs was turned, they’d do it. We 
don’t know who’s with them, and if a stranger heaves in 
sight meet him with a chunk o’ lead. They’re the only 


S32 


THE HUNTED WOMAN 


ones m these mountains, an’ we won’t make any mistake. 
See that bunch of spruce over there? ” 

The old hunter pointed to a clump fifty yards beyond 
the tepee toward the little lake. Aldous noddedo 

‘T’ll take my blankets over there,” continued Mac- 
Donald. ‘‘You roll yourself up here, and the tepee’ll be 
between us. You see the system, Johnny? If they make 
ns a visit during the night we’ve got ’em between us, and 
there’ll be some real bmying to do in the morning!” 

Back under the low-hanging boughs of the dwarf spruce 
Aldous spread out his blanket a few minutes later. He 
had made up his mind not to sleep, and for horns he lay 
watchful and waiting, smoking occasionally, with his face 
close to the ground so that the odour of tobacco would 
cling to the earth. The moon rose until it was straight 
overhead, flooding the valley in a golden splendour that 
he wished Joanne might have seen. Then it began sinking 
into the west; slowly at first, and then more swiftly, its 
radiance diminished. He looked at his watch before the 
yellow orb effaced itself behind the towering peak of a 
distant mountain. It was a quarter of two. 

With deepening darkness, his eyes grew heavier. He 
closed them for a few moments at a time; and each time 
the interval was longer, and it took greater effort to force 
himself into wakefulness. Finally he slept. But he was 
still subconsciously on guard, and an hour later that con- 
sciousness was beating and pounding within him, urging 
him to awake. He sat up with a start and gripped his 
rifle. An owl was hooting — softly, very softly. Thera 
were four notes. He answered, and a little later Mac- 
Donald came like a shadow out of the gloom. Aldous ad« 


THE HUNTED WOMAN 


253 


vanced to meet him, and he noticed that over the eastern 
mountains there was a break of gray. 

‘‘It’s after three, Johnny,” MacDonald greeted him. 
“Build a fire and get breakfast. Tell Joanne I’m out after 
another sheep. Until it’s good an’ light I’m going to 
watch from that clump of timber up there. In half an 
hour it’ll be dawn.” 

He moved toward the timber, and Aldous set about 
building a fire. He was careful not to awaken Joanne. 
The fire was crackling cheerily when he went to the lake 
for water. Eeturning he saw the faint glow of candle- 
light in^ Joanne’s tepee. Five minutes later she appeared, 
and all thought of danger, and the discomfort of his sleep- 
less night, passed from him at sight of her. Her eyes 
were still a little misty with sleep when he took her in his 
arms and kissed her, but she was deliciously alive, and 
glad, and happy. In one hand she had brought a brush 
and in the other a comb. 

“You slept like a log,” he cried happily. “It can’t be 
that you had very bad dreams, little wife? ” 

“I had a beautiful dream, John,” she laughed softly, 
and the colour flooded up into her face. 

She unplaited the thick silken strands of her braid and 
began brushing her hair in the firelight, while Aldous sliced 
the bacon. Some of the slices were thick, and some were 
thin, for he could not keep his eyes from her as she stood 
there like a goddess, buried almost to her knees in that 
wondrous mantle. He found himself whistling with a 
very light heart as she braided her hair, and afterward 
plunged her face in a bath of cold water he had brought 
feom the lake. From that bath she emerged like a glowing 


254 


THE HUNTED WOMAN 


Naiad. Her eyes sparkled. Her cheeks were pink and 
her Ups full and red. Damp little tendrils of hair clung 
adorably about her face and neck. For another full 
minute Aldous paused in his labours, and he wondered if 
MacDonald was watching them from the clump of timber. 
The bacon was sputtering when Joanne ran to it and 
rescued it from burning. 

Dawn followed quickly after that first break of day in 
the east, but not until one could see a full rifle-shot away 
did MacDonald return to the camp. Breakfast was wait- 
ing, and as soon as he had finished the old hunter went 
after the horses. It was five o’clock, and bars of the sun 
were shooting over the tops of the mountains when once 
more they were in the saddle and on their way. 

Most of this day Aldous headed the outfit up the valley. 
On the pretext of searching for game MacDonald rode 
so far in advance that only twice during the forenoon was 
he in sight. When they stopped to camp for the night his 
horse was almost exhausted, and MacDonald himself 
showed signs of tremendous physical effort. Aldous 
could not question him before Joanne. He waited. And 
MacDonald was strangely silent. 

The proof of MacDonald’s prediction concerning Joanne 
Was in evidence this second night. Every bone in her 
body ached, and she was so tired that she made no objec- 
tion to going to her bed as soon as it was dark. 

*‘It always happens like this,” consoled old Donald, 
as she bade him good-night. ‘^To-morrow you’ll begin 
gettin’ broke in, an’ the next day you won’t have any 
lameness at all.” 

She limped to the tepee with John’s arm snugly about 


THE HUNTED WOMAN 


S55 


her slim waist. MacDonald waited patiently until lie re- 
turned. He motioned Aldous to seat himself close at his 
side. Both men lighted their pipes before the mountain- 
eer spoke. 

“ We can’t both sleep at once to-night, Johnny,” he said. 
“We’ve got to take turns keeping watch.” 

“You’ve discovered something to-day?” 

“No. It’s what I haven’t discovered that counts. 
There weren’t no tracks in this valley, Johnny, from moim- 
t’in to mount’in. They haven’t travelled through this 
range, an’ that leaves just two things for us to figger on. 
They’re behind us — or DeBar is hitting another trail into 
the north. There isn’t no danger ahead rigKj now, be- 
cause we’re gettin^ into the biggest ranges between here 
an’ the Yukon. If Quade and Rann are in the next valley 
they can’t get over the mount’ins to get at us. Quade, 
with all his flesh, couldn’t climb over that range to the 
west of us inside o’ three days, if he could get over it at all. 
They’re hikin’ straight for the gold over another trail, or 
they’re behind us, an’ mebby both.” 

“How — both?” asked Aldous. 

“Two parties,” explained MacDonald, puffing hard at 
his pipe. “If there’s an outflt behind us they were hid in 
the timber on the other side of the snow-ridge, and they’re 
pretty close this minute. Culver Rann — or FitzHugh, as 
you call him — is hustling straight on with DeBar. Mebby 
Quade is with him, an’ mebby he ain’t. Anyway, there’s 
a big chance of a bunch behind us with special instructions 
from Quade to cut our throats and keep Joanne.” 

That day Aldous had been turning a question over in 
bis own mind. He asked it now. 


S56 


THE HUNTED WOMAN 


*‘Mac, are you sure you can go to the valley of gold 
without DeBar?” 

For a long half minute MacDonald looked at him, and 
then his voice rumbled in a low, exultant laugh in his 
beard. 

Johnny,’’ he said, with a strange quiver in his voice, 
‘'‘I can go to it now straighter an’ quicker than DeBar! I 
know why I never found it. DeBar helped me that much. 
The trail is mapped right out in my brain now, Johnny. 
Five years ago I was within ten miles of the cavern — an’ 
didn’t know it!” 

“And we can get there ahead of them? ” 

“We could — if it wasn’t for Joanne. We’re makin’ 
twenty miles a day. We could make thirty.” 

“If we could beat them to it!” exclaimed Aldous, 
clenching his hands. “If we only could, Donald — ^the rest 
would be easy!” 

MacDonald laid a heavy hand on his knee. 

“You remember what you told me, Johnny, that you’d 
play the game fair, and give ’em a first chance? You ain’t 
figgerin’ on that now, be you?” 

“No. I’m with you now, Donald. It’s ” 

“Shoot on sight!” 

“Yes.” 

Aldous rose from his seat as he spoke. 

“You turn in, Mac,” he said. “You’re about bushed 
after the work you’ve done to-day. I’ll keep first watch. 
I’ll conceal myself fifty or sixty yard?* from camp, and 
if we have visitors before midnight the fun will all be 
mine.” 

He knew that MacDonald was asleep within fifteen 


THE HUNTED WOMAN 


257 


minutes after he had stationed himself at his post. In 
spite of the fact that he had had almost no sleep the pre- 
ceding night, he was more than usually wakeful. He was 
filled with a curious feeling that events were impending. 
Yet the hours passed, the moon flooded the valley again, 
the horses grazed without alarm, and nothing happened. 
He had planned not to awaken old Donald at midnight, 
but MacDonald roused himself, and came to take his 
place a little before twelve. From that hour until four 
Aldous slept like the dead. He was tremendously re- 
freshed when he arose, to find that the candle was alight 
in Joanne’s tepee, and that MacDonald had built a fire. 
He waited for Joanne, and went with her to the tiny creek 
near the camp, where both bathed their faces in the snow- 
cold water from the mountain tops. Joanne had slept 
soundly for eight hours, and she was as fresh and as happy 
as a bird. Her lameness was almost gone, and she was 
eager for the day’s journey. 

As they filed again up the valley that morning, with the 
rarly sun transfiguring the great snow-topped ranges 
about them into a paradise of colour and warmth, Aldous 
found himself mentally wondering if it were really possible 
that a serious danger menaced them. He did not tell 
MacDonald what was in his mind. He did not confess 
that he was about ready to believe that the man on the 
snow-ridge had been a hunter or a prospector returning 
to his camp in the other valley, and that the attack in T^te 
Jaune was the one and only effort Quade would make to 
^jecure possession of Joanne. While a few hours before 
he had almost expected an immediate attack, he was now 
becoming more and more convinced that Quade, to a large 


THE HUNTED WOMAN 


258 

extent, had dropped out of the situation. He might bo 
with Mortimer FitzHugh, and probably was — a dangerous 
and formidable enemy to be accounted for when the 
final settlement came. 

But as an immediate menace to Joanne, Aldous was 
beginning to fear him less as the hours passed. Joanne, 
and the day itself, were sufficient to disarm him of his 
former apprehension. In places they could see for miles 
ahead and behind them. And Joanne, each time that he 
looked at her, was a greater joy to him. Constantly she 
was pointing out the wonders of the mountains to him and 
MacDonald. Each new rise or fall in the valley held fresh 
and delightful surprises for her; in the craggy peaks she 
pointed out castlements, and towers, and battlemented 
strongholds of ancient princes and kings. Her mind 
was a wild and beautiful riot of imagination, of wonder, 
and of happiness, and in spite of the grimness of the mis- 
sion they were on even MacDonald found himself rejoic 
ing in her spirit, and he laughed and talked with them 
as they rode into the North. 

They were entering now into a hunter’s paradise. For 
the first time Joanne saw white, moving dots far up on 
a mountain-side, which MacDonald told her were goats. 
In the afternoon they saw mountain sheep feeding on a 
shde half a mile away, and for ten breathless minutes 
Joanne watched them through the telescope. Twice cari- 
bou sped over the opens ahead of them. But it was not 
until the sun was settling toward the west again that 
Joanne saw what she had been vainly searching the sides 
of the mountains to find. MacDonald had stopped sud- 
denly in the trail, motioning them to advance. When 


THE HUNTED WOMAN 


^9 


they rode up to him he pointed to a green slope two hun- 
dred yards ahead 

“There’s yo’r grizzly, Joanne,” he said. 

A huge, tawny beast was ambling slowly along the crest 
of the slope, and at sight of him Joanne gave a little cry 
of excitement. 

“He’s hunting for gophers,” explained MacDonald. 
“That’s why he don’t seem in a hurry. He don’t see 
us because a b’ar’s eyes are nearsighted, but he could smell 
us half a mile away if the wind was right.” 

He was unslinging his long rifle as he spoke. Joanne 
was near enough to catch his arm. 

“Don’t shoot — please don’t shoot!” she begged. “I’ve 
seen lions, and I’ve seen tigers — and they’re treacherous 
and I don’t like them. But there’s something about bears 
that I love, like dogs. And the lion isn’t a king among 
beasts compared with him. Please don’t shoot ! ” 

“I ain’t a-goin’ to,” chuckled old Donald. “I’m just 
getting ready to give ’im the proper sort of a handshake if 
he should happen to come this way, Joanne. You know a 
grizzly ain’t pertic’lar afraid of anything on earth as 
I know of, an’ they’re worse ’n a dynamite explosion when 
they come head-on. There — ^he’s goin’ over the slope ! ” 

“Got our wind,” said Aldous. 

They went on, a colour in Joanne’s face like the vivid 
sunset. They camped two hours before dusk, and Mac- 
Donald flgured they had made better than twenty miles 
that day. The same precautions were observed in guard- 
ing the camp as the night before, and the long horns of 
Tigil were equally imeventful. The next day added still 
more to Aldous’ peace of mind regarding possible attack 


260 


THE HUNTED WOMAN 


from Quade, and on the night of this day, their fourth 
in the mountains, he spoke his mind to MacDonald. 

For a few moments afterward the old hunter smoked 
quietly at his pipe. Then he said : 

‘T don’t know but you’re right, Johnny. If they were 
behind us they’d most likely have tried something be- 
fore this. But it ain’t in the law of the mount’ins to be 
careless. We’ve got to watch.” 

^ ‘T agree with you there, Mac,” replied Aldous. *‘We 
cannot afford to lose our caution for a minute. But 
I’m feeling a deuced sight better over the situation just 
the same. If we can only get there ahead of them!” 

“If Quade is in the bunch we’ve got a chance of beating 
them,” said MacDonald thoughtfully. “He’s heavy, 
Johnny — that sort of heaviness that don’t stand up well in 
the mount’ins; whisky-flesh, I call it. Culver Rann don’t 
weigh much more’n half as much,|^but he’s like iron. Quade 
may be a drag. An’ Joanne, Lord bless her! — ^she’s facing 
the music like an’ ’ero, Johnny!” 

“And the journey is almost half over.” 

“This is the fourth day. I Agger we can make it in ten 
at most, mebby nine,” said old Donald. “You see we’re 
in that part of the Rockies where there’s real mount’ins, 
an’ the ranges ain’t broke up much. We’ve got fairly good 
travel to the end.” 

On this night Aldous slept from eight until twelve. The 
next, their fifth, his watch was from midnight until morn- 
ing. As the sixth and the seventh days and nights passed 
imeventfully the belief that there were no enemies be- 
hind them became a certainty. Yet neither Aldous nor 
MacDonald relaxed their vigilance. 


THE HUNTED WOMAN 


261 


The eighth day dawned, and now a new excitement took 
possession of Donald MacDonald. Joanne and AJdous 
saw his efforts to suppress it, but it did not escape their 
eyes. They were nearing the tragic scenes of long ago, and 
old Donald was about to reap the reward of a search that 
had gone faithfully and untiringly through the winters and 
summers of forty years. He spoke seldom that day. 
There were strange lights in his eyes. And once his voice 
was husky and strained when he said to Aldous: 

‘‘I guess we’ll make it to-morrow, Johnny — ^jus’ about 
as the sun’s going down.” 

They camped early, and Aldous rolled himself in his 
blanket when Joanne extinguished the candle in her 
tent. He foimd that he could not sleep, and he relieved 
MacDonald at eleven o’clock. 

‘‘Get all the rest you can, Mac,” he urged. “There 
may be doings to-morrow — at about sundown.” 

There was but little moonlight now, but the stars 
were clear. He lighted his pipe, and with his rifle in the 
crook of his arm he walked slowly up and down over a 
hundred-yard stretch of the narrow plain in which they 
had camped. That night they had built their fire be- 
side a fallen log, which was now a glowing mass without 
flame. Finally he sat down with his back to a rock 
fifty paces from Joanne’s tepee. It was a splendid night. 
The air was cool and sweet. He leaned back until his 
head rested against the rock, and there fell upon him the 
fatal temptation to close his eyes and snatch a few min- 
utes of the slumber which had not come to him during 
the early hours erf the night. He was in a doze, oblivious 
to movement and the softer sounds of the night, when a 


t62 


THE HUNTED WOMAN 


cry pierced the struggling consciousness of his brain like 
the sting of a dart. In an instant he was on his feet. 

In the red glow of the log stood Joanne in her long white 
night robe. She seemed to be swaying when he first saw 
her. Her hands were clutched at her bosom, and she was 
staring — staring out into the night beyond the burning 
log, and in her face was a look of terror. He sprang toward 
her, and out of the gloom beyond her rushed Donald Mac^ 
Donald. With a cry she turned to Aldous and flung her- 
self shivering and half-sobbing into his arms. Gray- 
faced, his eyes burning like the smouldering coals in the 
fire, Donald MacDonald stood a step behind them, his 
long rifle in his hands. 

‘‘What is it?'^ cried Aldous. “What has frightened 
you, Joanne?” 

She was shuddering against his breast. 

“It — it must have been a dream,” she said. “It — ^it 
frightened me. But it was so terrible, and I’m — I’m 
sorry, John. I didn’t know what I was doing.” 

“What was it, dear?” insisted Aldous. 

MacDonald had drawn very close. 

Joanne raised her head. 

“Please let me go back to bed, John. It was only a 
dream, and I’ll tell it to you in the morning, when there’s 
sunshine — and day.” 

Something in MacDonald’s tense, listening attitude 
caught Aldous’ eyes. 

“What was the dream?” he urged. 

She looked from him to old Donald, and shivered. 

“The flap of my tepee was open,” she said slowly. “I 
thought I was awake. I thought I could see the glow erf 


THE HXJNTED WOMAN 


263 


the fire. But it was a dream — a, dreamy only it was hor- 
rible! For as I looked I saw a face out there in the light, a 
white, searching face — and it was his face!’’ 

Whose face?” 

‘‘Mortimer FitzHugh’s,” she shuddered. 

Tenderly Aldous led her back to the tent. 

“Yes, it was surely an unpleasant dream, dear,” he 
comforted her. “Try and sleep again. You must get 
all the rest you can.” 

He closed the flap after her, and turned back toward 
MacDonald. The old hunter had disappeared. It was 
ten minutes before he came in from out of the darkness. 
He went straight to Aldous. 

“Johnny, you was asleep!” 

“I’m afraid I was, Mac — ^just for a minute.” 

MacDonald’s fingers gripped his arm. 

“Jus’ for a minute, Johnny — an’ in that minute you lost 
the chance of yoiu* life ! ” 

“What do you mean?” 

“I mean” — and old Donald’s voice was filled with a 
low, choking tremble that Aldous had never heard in it 
before — “I mean that it weren’t no dream, Johnny! 
Mortimer FitzHugh was in this camp to-night!” 


CHAPTER XXV 


D onald MacDONALD’S startling assertion that 
Mortimer FItzHugh had been In the camp, and 
that Joanne’s dream was not a dream, but reality, 
brought a gasp of astonishment and disbelief from Aldous. 
Before he had recovered suflScIently from his amazement 
to speak, MacDonald was answering the question In his 
mind. 

“I woke quicker’n you, Johnny,” he said. ‘‘She was 
just coming out of the tepee, an’ I heard something running 
off through the brush. I thought mebby It was a wol- 
verine, or a bear, an’ I didn’t move until she cried out your 
name an’ you jumped up. If she had seen a bear In the 
fire-glow she wouldn’t have thought It was Mortimer 
FItzHugh, would she? It’s possible, but It ain’t likely, 
though I do say It’s mighty queer why he should be In this 
camp alone. It’s up to us to watch pretty close imtU 
daylight.” 

“He wouldn’t be here alone,” asserted Aldous. “Let’s 
get out of the light, Mac. If you’re right, the whole gang 
isn’t far away!” 

“They ain’t in rifle-shot,” said MacDonald. “I heard 
him running a hundred yards out there. That’s the queer 
thing about it! Why didn’t they jump on us when they 
had the chance?” 

“We’ll hope that it was a dream,” replied Aldous. “If 
264 


THE HUNTED WOMAN 


^65 


Joanne Was dreaming of FitzHugh, and while still half 
asleep saw something in camp, she might easily imagine 
the rest. But we’ll keep watch. Shall I move out 
there?” 

MacDonald nodded, and the two men separated. For 
two horn’s they patrolled the darkness, waiting and 
listening. With dawn Aldous returned to camp to arouse 
Joanne and begin breakfast. He was anxious to see what 
eflFect the incident of the night had on her. Her appear- 
ance reassured him. When he referred to the dream, and 
the manner in which she had come out into the night, a 
lovely confusion sent the blushes into her face. He kissed 
her until they grew deeper, and she hid her face on his 
neck. 

And then she whispered something, with her face still 
against his shoulder, that drove the hot blood into his own 
cheeks. 

‘^You are my husband, John, and I don’t suppose I 
should be ashamed to let you see me in my bare feet. But. 
John — ^you have made me feel that way, and I am — ^your 
wife!” 

He held her head close against him so that she could 
not see his face. 

‘‘I wanted to show you — that I loved you — that much,” 
he said, scarcely knowing what words he was speaking. 
“Joanne, my darling ” 

A soft hand closed his lips. 

“I know, John,” she interrupted him softly. “And I 
love you so for it, and I’m so proud of you — oh, so proud, 
John!” 

He was glad that MacDonald came crashing through the 


?e66 THE HUNTED WOMAN 

bush then. Joanne slipped from his arms and ran into the 
tepee. 

In MacDonald’s face was a grim and sullen look. 

“You missed your chance, all right, Johnny,” he 
growled. “ I found where a horse was tied out there. The 
tracks lead to a big slide of rock that opens a break in the 
west range. Whoever it was has beat it back into the 
other valley. I can’t understand, s’elp me God, I can’t, 
Johnny ! Why should FitzHugh come over into this valley 
alone? And he rode over! I’d say the devil couldn’t do 
that!” 

He said nothing more, but went out to lead in the 
hobbled horses, leaving Aldous in half-stunned wonder- 
ment to finish the preparation of breakfast. Joanne reap- 
peared a httle later, and helped him. It was six o’clock 
before breakfast was over and they were ready to begin 
their day’s journey. As they were throwing the hitch over 
the last pack, MacDonald said in a low voice to Aldous: 

“Everything may happen to-day, Johnny. I figger 
we’ll reach the end by sundown. An’ what don’t happen 
there may happen along the trail. Keep a rifle-shot 
behind with Joanne. If there’s onexpected shooting, 
we want what you might call a reserve force in the rear. 
I figger I can see danger, if there is any, an’ I can do it best 
alone.” 

Aldous knew that in these last hours Donald MacDon- 
ald’s judgment must be final, and he made no objection to 
an arrangement which seemed to place the old hunter 
under a more hazardous risk than his own. And he 
realized fully that these were the last hours. For the 
first time he had seen MacDonald fill his pockets with the 


THE HUNTED WOMAN 


26 T 


linger-long cartridges for his rifle, and he had noted how 
carefully he had looked at the breech of that rifle. With- 
out questioning, he had followed the mountaineer’s ex- 
ample. There were fifty spare cartridges in his own 
pockets. His .303 was freshly cleaned and oiled. He 
had tested the mechanism of his automatic. MacDonald 
had watched him, and both understood what such prep- 
arations meant as they set out on this last day’s journey 
into the North. They had not kept from Joanne the 
fact that they would reach the end before night, and as 
they rode the prescribed distance behind the old hunter 
Aldous wondered how much she guessed, and what she 
knew. They had given her to understand that they 
were beating out the rival party, but he believed that in 
spite of all their efforts there was in Joanne’s mind a com- 
prehension which she did not reveal in voice or look* 
To-day she was no different than yesterday, or the day 
before, except that her cheeks were not so deeply flushed, 
and there was an uneasy questing in her eyes. He be- 
lieved that she sensed the nearness of tragedy, that she 
was conscious of what they were now trying to hide from 
her, and that she did not speak because she knew that he 
and MacDonald did not want her to know. His heart 
throbbed with pride. Her courage inspired him. And 
he noticed that she rode closer to him — always at his side 
through that day. 

Early in the afternoon MacDonald stopped on the 
crest of a swell in the valley and waited for them. When 
they came up he was facing the north. He did not look 
at them. For a few moments he did not speak. His hat 
was pulled low, and his beard was twitching. 


268 


THE HUNTED WOMAN 


They looked ahead. At their feet the valley broadened 
until it was a mile in width. Half a mile away a band of 
caribou were running for the cover of a parklike clump of 
timber. MacDonald did not seem to notice them. He 
was stiU looking steadily, and he was gazing at a mountain. 
It was a tremendous mountain, a terrible-looking, ugly 
mountain, perhaps three miles away. Aldous had never 
seen another like it. Its two huge shoulders were of 
almost ebon blackness, and glistened in the sunlight as 
if smeared with oil. Between those two shoulders rose a 
cathedral-like spire of rock and snow that seemed to tip 
the white fleece of the clouds. 

MacDonald did not turn when he spoke. His voice 
was deep and vibrant with an intense emotion. Yet he 
was not excited. 

*‘IVe been himting for that mountain for forty years, 
Johnny!” 

-‘Mac!” 

Aldous leaned over and laid a hand on the old moun- 
taineer’s shoulder. Still MacDonald did not look at him. 

“Forty years,” he repeated, as if speaking to himself, 
see how I missed it now, just as DeBar said. I hunted 
from the west, an’ on that side the moimt’in ain’t black. 
We must have crossed this valley an’ come in from the 
east forty years ago, Johnny ” 

He turned now, and what Joanne and Aldous saw in 
his face was not grief; it was not the sorrow of one drawing 
near to his beloved dead, but a joy that had transfigured 
him. The fire and strength of the youth in which he had 
jSrst looked upon this valley with Jane at his side burned 
again in the sunken eyes of Donald MacDonald, Aft^ 


THE HUNTED WOMAN 


forty years he had come into his own. Somewhere very 
near was the cavern with the soft white floor of sand, and 
for a moment Aldous fancied that he could hear the beat- 
ing of MacDonald’s heart, while from Joanne’s tender 
bosom there rose a deep, sobbing breath of understanding. 

And MacDonald, facing the mountain again, pointed 
with a long, gaunt arm, and said : 

“We’re almost there, Johnny. God ha’ mercy on them 
if they’ve beat us out!” 


CHAPTER XXVI 


T hey rode on into the Valley of Gold. Again 
MacDonald took the lead, and he rode straight 
into the face of the black mountain. Aldous no 
longer made an effort to keep Joanne in ignorance of what 
might be ahead of them. He put a sixth cartridge into 
the chamber of his rifle, and carried the weapon across the 
pommel of his saddle. He explained to her now why 
they were riding behind — that if their enemies were laying 
in wait for them, MacDonald, alone, could make a swift 
retreat. Joanne asked no questions. Her lips were set 
tight. She was pale. 

At the end of three quarters of an hour it seemed to 
them that MacDonald was riding directly into the face of a 
wall of rock. Then he swung sharply to the left, and dis* 
appeared. When they came to the point where he had 
turned they found that he had entered a concealed break 
in the mountain — a chasm with walls that rose almost per- 
pendicular for a thousand feet above their heads. A dark 
and solemn gloom pervaded this chasm, and Aldous 
drew nearer to MacDonald, his rifle held in readiness, 
and his bridle-rein fastened to his saddle-horn. The 
chasm was short. Sunlight burst upon them suddenly, 
and a few minutes later MacDonald waited for them 
again. 

Even Aldous could not restrain an exclamation of y ' ^ 


270 


THE HUNTED WOMAN 


m 


prise when he rode up with Joanne. Under them was an- 
other valley, a wide-sweeping valley between two rugged 
ranges that ran to the southwest. Up out of it there came 
to their ears a steady, rumbling roar; the air was filled 
with that roar; the earth seemed to tremble with it under 
their feet — and yet it was not loud. It came sullenly, as 
if from a great distance. 

And then they saw that MacDonald was not looking 
out over the sweep of the valley, but down. Half a mile 
under them there was a dip — a valley within a vaUey — 
and through it ran the silver sheen of a stream. Mac- 
Donald spoke no word now. He dismounted and levelled 
his long telescope at the little valley. Aldous helped 
Joanne from her horse, and they waited. A great breath 
came at last from the old hunter. Slowly he turned. He 
did not give the telescope to Aldous, but to Joanne. She 
looked. For a full minute she seemed scarcely to breathe. 
Her hands trembled when she turned to give the glass to 
Aldous. 

see — ^log cabins!” she whispered. 

MacDonald placed a detaining hand on her arm. 

*‘Look ag’in — ^Joanne,” he said in a low voice that had 
in it a curious quiver. 

Again she raised the telescope to her eyes. 

**You see the httle cabin — nearest the river?” whispered 
Donald. 

‘‘Yes, I see it.” 

“That was our cabin — ^Jane’s an’ mine — ^forty years 
ago,” he said, and now his voice was husky. 

Joanne’s breath broke sobbingly as she gave Aldous the 
glass. Something seemed to choke him as he looked 


272 


THE HUNTED WOMAN 


down upon the scene of the grim tragedy in which Donald 
MacDonald and Jane had played their fatal part. He 
saw the cabins as they had stood for nearly half a century. 
There were four. Three of them were small, and the 
fourth was large. They might have been built yester- 
day, for all that he could see of ruin or decay. The doors 
and windows of the larger cabin and two of the smaller 
ones were closed. The roofs were unbroken. The walls 
appeared solid. Twice he looked at the fourth cabin, 
with its wide-open door and window, and twice he looked 
at the cabin nearest the stream, where had lived Donald 
MacDonald and Jane. 

Donald had moved, and Joanne was watching him 
tensely, when he took the glass from his eyes. Mutely 
the old mountaineer held out a hand, and Aldous gave him 
the telescope. Crouching behind a rock he slowly swept 
the valley, n For half an hour he looked through the glass, 
and in that time scarce a word was spoken. During the 
last five minutes of that half-hour both Joanne and Aldous 
knew that MacDonald was looking at the little cabin 
nearest the stream, and with hands clasped tightly they 
waited in silence. 

At last old Donald rose, and his face and voice were 
filled with a wonderful calm, 

“There ain’t been no change,” he said softly. “I can 
see the log in front o’ the door that I used to cut kindling 
on. It was too tough for them to split an’ bm*n after we 
left. An’ I can see the tub I made out o’ spruce for Jane. 
It’s leaning next the door, where I put it the day before 
we went away. Forty years ain’t very long, Johnny! It 
ain’t very long!” 


THE HUNTED WOMAN 278 

Joanne had turned from them, and Aldous knew that 
she was crying. 

“An’ we’ve beat ’em to it, Johnny — ^we’ve beat ’em ta 
it!” exulted MacDonald. “There ain’t a sign of life in 
the valley, and we sure could make it out from here if 
there was!” 

He climbed into his saddle, and started down the slope 
of the mountain. Aldous went to Joanne. She was sob- 
bing. Her eyes were blinded by tears. 

“It’s terrible, terrible,” she whispered brokenly. “And 
it — it’s beautiful, John. I feel as though I’d like to give 
my life — to bring Jane back ! ” 

“You must not betray tears or grief to Donald,” said 
Aldous, drawing her close in his arms for a moment. 
“Joanne — sweetheart — it is a wonderful thing that is 
happening with him ! I dreaded this day — I have dreaded 
it for a long time. I thought that it would be terrible to 
witness the grief of a man with a heart like Donald’s. 
But he is not filled with grief, Joanne. It is joy, a great 
happiness that perhaps neither you nor I can understand 
— that has come to him now. Don’t you understand.^ He 
has found her. He has found their old home. To-day is 
the culmination of forty years of hope, and faith, and 
prayer. And it does not bring him sorrow, but gladness. 
We must rejoice with him. We must be happy with him. 
I love you, Joanne. I love you above all else on earth or 
in heaven. Without you I would not want to live. And 
yet, Joanne, I believe that I am no happier to-day than is 
Donald MacDonald!” 

With a sudden cry Joanne flung her arms about his neck. 

“John, is it that she cried, and joy shone through her 


274 


THE HUNTED WOMAN 


tears. ‘‘Yes, yes, I understand now! His heart is not 
breaking. It is life returning into a heart that was empty. 
I understand — oh, I understand now! And we must 
be happy with him. We must be happy when we find the 
cavern — and Jane!’’ 

“And when we go down there to the little cabin that was 
their home.” 

“Yes — ^yes!” 

They followed behind MacDonald. After a little a 
spur of the mountain-side shut out the little valley from 
them, and when they rounded this they foimd themselves 
very near to the cabins. They rode down a beautiful slope 
into the basin, and when he reached the log buildings old 
Donald stopped and dismounted. Again Aldous helped 
Joanne from her horse. Ahead of them MacDonald went 
to the cabin nearest the stream. At the door he paused 
and waited for them. 

“Forty years!” he said, facing them. “An’ there ain’t 
been so very much change as I can see!” 

Years had dropped from his shoulders in these last few 
minutes, and even Adous could not keep quite out of 
his face his amazement and wonder. Very gently Donald 
put his hand to the latch, as though fearing to awaken 
some one within; and very gently he pressed down on it, 
and put a bit of his strength against the door. It moved 
inward, and when it had opened sufficiently he leaned 
forward so that his head and a half of his shoulders were 
inside; and he looked — a long time he looked, without a 
movement of his body or a breath that they could see. 

And then he turned to them again, and his eyes were 
shining as they had never seen them shine before. 


THE HUNTED WOMAN 


275 


“I’ll open the window,” he said. “It’s dark — dark 
inside.” 

He went to the window, which was closed with a sapling 
barricade that had swung on hinges; and when he swung 
it back the rusted hinges gave way, and the thing crashed 
down at his feet. And now through the open window the 
sun poured in a warm radiance, and Donald entered the 
cabip^ with Joanne and Aldous close behind him. 

There was not much in the cabin, but what it held was 
earth, and heaven, and all else to Donald MacDonald. A 
strange, glad cry smged from his chest as he looked about 
him, and now Joanne saw and understood what John 
Aldous had told her — ^for Donald MacDonald, after forty 
years, had come back to his home! 

“Oh, my Gawd, Johnny, they didn’t touch anything! 
They didn’t touch anything! ” he breathed in ecstasy. “I 
thought after we ran away they’d come in ” 

He broke ofiF, and his hat dropped from his hand, and 
he stood and stared; and what he was looldng at, the sun 
fell upon in a great golden splash, and Joanne’s hand 
gripped John’s, and held to it tightly. Against the wall, 
hanging as they had hung for forty years, were a woman’s 
garments: a hood, a shawl, a dress, and an apron that was 
half in tatters; and on the floor under these things were 
a pair of shoes. And as Donald MacDonald went to 
them, his arms reaching out, his lips moving, forgetful of 
all things but that he had come home, and Jane was here, 
Joanne drew Aldous softly to the door, and they went out 
into the day. 

Joanne did not speak, and Aldous did not urge her. He 
saw her white throat throbbing as if there were a little 


276 


THE HUNTED WOMAN 


heart beating there, and her eyes were big and dark and 
velvety, hke the eyes of a fawn that had been frightened. 
There was a thickness in his own throat, and he found that 
it was difficult for him to see far out over the plain. They 
waited near the horses. Fifty yards from them ran the 
stream; a clear, beautiful stream which flowed in the 
direction from which the mysterious rumble of thunder 
seemed to come. This, Aldous knew, was the stream of 
gold. In the sand he saw wreckage which he knew were the 
ancient rockers; a shovel, thrust shaft-deep, still remained 
where it had last been planted. 

Perhaps for ten minutes Donald MacDonald remained 
in the cabin. Then he came out. Very carefully he 
closed the door. His shoulders were thrown back. His 
head was held high. He looked hke a monarch. 

And his voice was calm. 

“Everything is there, Johnny — everything but the 
gold,” he said. “They took that.” 

Now he spoke to Joanne. 

“You better not go with us into the other cabins,” he 
said. 

“Why?” she asked softly. 

“Because — there’s death in them all.” 

“I am going,” she said. 

From the window of the largest cabin MacDonald pulled 
the sapHng shutter, and, like the other, it fell at his feet. 
Then they opened the door, and entered; and here the 
simlight revealed the cabin’s ghastly tragedy. The first 
thing that they saw, because it was most terrible, was a 
rough table, half over which lay the shrunken thing that 
had once been a man. A part of its clothes stiU remained. 


THE HUNTED WOMAN 


277 


but the head had broken from its column, and the white 
and fleshless skull lay facing them. Out of tattered and 
dust-crumbling sleeves reached the naked bones of hands 
and arms. And on the floor lay another of these things, 
in a crumpled and huddled heap, only the back of the 
skull showing, like the polished pate of a bald man. These 
things they saw first, and then two others: on the table 
were a heap of age-blackened and dusty sacks, and out of 
the back of the crumbling thing that guarded them stuck 
the long buckhorn hilt of a knife. 

“They must ha’ died fighting,” said MacDonald. “An* 
there, Johnny, is their gold!” 

White as death Joanne stood in the door and watched 
them. MacDonald and Aldous went to the sacks. They 
were of buckskin. The years had not aged them. When 
Aldous took one in his hands he found that it was heavier 
than lead. With his knife MacDonald cut a slit in one 
of them, and the sun that came through the window 
flashed in a little golden stream that ran from the bag. 

“We’ll take them out and put ’em in a pannier,” said 
MacDonald. “The others won’t be far behind us, 
Johnny.” 

Between them they carried out the seven sacks of gold. 
It was a load for their arms. They put it in one of the 
panniers, and then MacDonald nodded toward the cabin 
next the one that had been his own. 

“I wouldn’t go in there, Joanne,” he said. 

“I’m going,” she whispered again. 

“It was their cabin — ^the man an’ his wife,” persisted 
old Donald. “An’ the men was beasts, Joanne! I don’^ 
baow what hapi)ened in there — ^but I guess.” 


278 


THE HUNTED WOMAN 


‘T’m going,” she said again. 

MacDonald pulled down the barricade from the window 
— a window that also faced the south and west, and this 
time he had to thrust against the door with his shoulder. 
They entered, and now a cry came from Joanne’s lips — a 
cry that had in it horror, disbelief, a woman’s wrath. 
Against the wall was a pile of something, and on that pile 
was the searching jSrst light of day that had fallen upon 
it for nearly half a century. The pile was a man caiimpled 
down; across it, her skeleton arms thrown about it pro-^ 
tectingly, was a woman. This time Aldous did not go 
forward. MacDonald was alone, and Aldous took Joanne 
from the cabin, and held her while she swayed in his arms. 
Donald came out a little later, and there was a curious 
look of exultation and triumph in his face. 

^‘She killed herself,” he said. “That was her husband. 
I know him. I gave him the rock-nails he put in the soles 
of his boots — and the nails are still there.” 

He went alone into the remaining two cabins, while 
Aldous stood with Joanne. He did not stay long. From 
the fourth cabin he brought an armful of the little brown 
sacks. He returned, and brought a second armful. 

“There’s three more in that last cabin,” he explained. 
“Two men, an’ a woman. She must ha’ been the wife of 
the man they killed. They were the last to live, an’ they 
starved to death. An’ now, Johnny ” 

He paused, and he drew in a great breath. 

He was looking to the west, where the sun was begin- 
ning to sink behind the moimtains. 

“An’ now, Johnny, if you’re ready, an’ if Joanne is 
ready, we’ll go,” he said. 


CHAPTER XXVn 


^ S THEY went up out of the basin into the broad 
meadows of the larger valley, MacDonald rode be- 
tween Aldous and Joanne, and the pack-horsesj 
led by Pinto, trailed behind. 

Again old Donald said, as he searched the valley: 

“ WeVe beat ^em, Johnny. Quade an^ Rann are coming 
up on the other side of the range, and I figger they’re 
just about a day behind — ^mebby only hours, or an hour. 
You can’t tell. There’s more gold back there. We got 
about a hunderd poimds in them fifteen sacks, an’ there 
was twice that much. It’s hid somewhere. Calkins 
used to keep his’n under the floor. So did Watts. We’ll 
find it later. An’ the river, an’ the dry gulches on both 
sides of the valley — they’re full of it! It’s all gold, Johnny 
— ^gold everywhere!” 

He pointed ahead to where the valley rose in a green 
slope between two mountains half a mile away. 

“That’s the break,” he said. “It don’t seem very far 
now, do it, Joanne?” His silence seemed to have dropped 
from him like a mantle, and there was joy in what he 
was telling. “But it was a distance that night — a tmrible 
distance,” he continued, before she could answer. “That 
was forty-one years ago, coming November. An’ it was 
cold, an’ the snow was deep. It was bitter cold — so cold 
it caught my Jane’s lungs, an’ that was what made her 
. m 


280 


THE HUNTED WOMAN 


go a little later. The slope up there don’t look steep now, 
but it was steep then — ^with two feet of snow to drag our- 
selves through. I don’t think the cavern is more’n five 
or six miles away, Johnny, mebby less, an’ it took us twenty 
hours to reach it. It snowed so heavy that night, an’ 
the wind blowed so, that our trail was filled up or they 
might ha’ followed.” 

Many times Aldous had been on the point of asking 
old Donald a question. For the first time he asked 
it now, even as his eyes swept slowly and searchingly 
over the valley for signs of Mortimer FitzHugh and 
Quade. 

“I’ve often wondered why you ran away with Jane,’' 
he said. “I know what threatened her — a thing worse 
than death. But why did you run? Why didn’t you 
stay and fight?” 

A low growl rumbled in MacDonald’s beard. 

“Johnny, Johnny, if I only ha’ could!” he groaned. 
“There was five of them left when I ran into the cabin 
an’ barricaded myself there with Jane. I stuck my gun 
out of the window an’ they was afraid to rush the cabin. 
They was afraidy Johnny, all that afternoon — ari* I didnH 
have a cartridge to fire ! That’s why we went just as 
soon as we could crawl out in the dark. I knew they’d 
come that night. I might ha’ killed one or two hand to 
hand, for I was big an’ strong in them days, Johnny, but I 
knew I couldn’t beat ’em all. So we went.” 

“After all, death isn’t so very terrible,” said Joanne 
softly, and she was riding so close that for a moment she 
laid one of her warm hands on Donald MacDonald’s. 

“No, it’s sometimes — wunnerful — an’ beautiful,” re* 


THE HUNTED WOMAN 


281 


plied Donald, a little brokenly, and with that he rode ahead, 
and Joanne and Aldous waited until the pack-horses had 
Poised them. 

‘‘He’s going to see that all is clear at the summit,’^ 
explained Aldous. 

They seemed to be riding now right into the face of that 
mysterious rumble and roar of the mountains. It was an 
hour before they all stood together at the top of the break, 
and here MacDonald swung sharply to the right, and came 
soon to the rock-strewn bed of a dried-up stream that in 
ages past had been a wide and rushing torrent. Steadily, 
as they progressed down this, the rumble and roar grew 
nearer. It seemed that it was almost under their feet, 
when again MacDonald turned, and a quarter of an hour 
later they found themselves at the edge of a small plain; 
and now all about them were cold and towering moun- 
\;ains that shut out the sun, and a himdred yards to their 
right was a great dark cleft in the floor of the plain, and 
up out of this came the rumble and roar that was like the 
sullen anger of monster beasts imprisoned deep down in 
the bowels of the earth. 

MacDonald got off his horse, and Aldous and Joanne 
rode up to him. In the old man’s face was a look of joy 
and triumph. 

“It weren’t so far as I thought it was, Johnny!” he 
cried. “Oh, it must ha’ been a turrible night — a turrible 
night when Jane an’ I come this way! It took us twenty 
horns, Johnny!” 

“We are near the cavern?” breathed Joanne. 

“It ain’t more’n half a mile farther on, I guess. But 
we’ll camp here. We’re pretty well hid. They can’t 


*82 


THE HUNTED WOMAN 


find us. An’ from that summit up there we can keep 
watch in both valleys.” 

Knowing the thoughts that were in MacDonald’s mind, 
and how full his heart was with a great desire, Aldous 
went to him when they had dismounted. 

‘‘You go on alone if there is time to-night, Mac,” he 
said, knowing that the other would imderstand him. “I 
will make camp.” 

“There ain’t no one in the valley,” mused the old man, 
a little doubtfully at first. “It would be safe — quite safe, 
Johnny.” 

“Yes, it will be safe.” 

“And I will stand guard while John is working,” said 
Joanne, who had come to them. “No one can approach 
us without being seen.” 

For another moment MacDonald hesitated. Then he 
said: 

“Do you see that break over there across the plain? 
It’s the open to a gorge. Johnny, it do seem onreason- 
able — it do seem as though I must ha’ been dreamin’ — 
when I think that it took us twenty hours! But the snow 
was to my waist in this plain, an’ it was slow work — 
turrible slow work! I think the cavern — ain’t on’y a little 
way up that gorge.” 

“You can make it before the sun is quite gone.” 

“An’ I could hear you shout, or your gun. I could ride 
back in five minutes — an’ I wouldn’t be gone an hour.” 

“There is no danger,” urged Aldous. 

A deep breath came from old Donald’s breast. 

“I guess — ^I’U go, Johnny, if you an’ Joanne don’t 
mind” 


THE HUNTED WOMAN 


He looked about him, and then he pointed toward the 
face of a great rock. 

‘‘Put the tepee up near that,’’ he said. “Pile the sad- 
dles, an’ the blankets, an’ the panniers around it, so it’ll 
look like a real camp, Johnny. But it won’t be a real 
camp. It’ll be a dummy. See them thick spruce an’ 
cedar over there? Build Joanne a shelter of boughs in 
there, an’ take in some grub, an’ blankets, an’ the gold. 
See the point, Johnny? If anything should happen ” 

“They’d tackle the bogus camp!” cried Aldous with 
elation. “It’s a splendid idea!” 

He set at once about impacking the horses, and Joanne 
followed close at his side to help him. MacDonald 
mounted his horse and rode at a trot in the direction of 
the break in the mountain. 

The sun had disappeared, but its reflection was still on 
the peaks; and after he had stripped and hobbled the 
horses Aldous took advantage of the last of day to scru- 
tinize the plain and the mountain slopes through the tele- 
scope. After that he found enough dry poles with which 
to set up the tepee, and about this he scattered the saddles 
and panniers, as MacDonald had suggested. Then he 
cleared a space in the thick spruce, and brought to it what 
was required for their hidden camp. 

It was almost dark when he completed the spruce and 
cedar lean-to for Joanne. He knew that to-night they 
must build no fire, not even for tea; and when they had 
laid out the materials for their cold supper, which con- 
sisted of beans, canned beef and tongue, peach marmalade, 
bread bannock, and pickles and cheese, he went with 
Joanne for water to a small creek they had crossed a 


284 


THE HUNTED WOMAN 


hundred yards away. In both his hands, ready for in« 
slant action, he carried his rifle. Joanne carried the paiL 
Her eyes were big and bright and searching in that thick- 
growing dusk of night. She walked very close to Aldous, 
and she said: 

“John, I know how careful you and Donald have been 
in this journey into the North. I know what you have 
feared. Culver Rann and Quade are after the gold, 
and they are near. But why does Donald talk as though 
we are surely going to be attacked by them, or are surely 
going to attack them? I don’t understand it, John. If 
you don’t care for the gold so much, as you told me once, 
and if we find Jane to-morrow, or to-night, why do we 
remain to have trouble with Quade and Culver Rann? 
Tell me, John.” 

He could not see her face fully in the gloom, and he was 
glad that she could not see his. 

“If we can get away without fighting, we will, Joanne,” 
he Hed. And he knew that she would have known that 
he was lying if it had not been for the darkness. 

“You won’t fight — over the gold?” she asked, pressing 
his arm. “Will you promise me that, John? ” 

“Yes, I promise that. I swear it!” he cried, and so 
forcefully that she gave a glad httle laugh. 

“Then if they don’t find us to-morrow, we’ll go back 
home?” She trembled, and he knew that her heart was 
filled with a sudden lightness. “And I don’t beUeve they 
will find us. They won’t come beyond that terrible 
place — and the gold! Why should they, John? Why 
should they follow us — ^if we leave them everything? 
Oh-h-h-hl” She shuddered, and whispered: “I wm 


THE HUNTED WOMAN 285 

had not brought the gold, John. I wish we had left it 
behind!” 

‘‘What we have is worth thirty or forty thousand dol- 
lars,” he said reassuringly, as he filled his pail with water 
and they began to return. “We can do a great deal of 
good with that. Endowments, for instance,” he laughed. 

As he spoke, they both stopped, and listened. Plainly 
they heard the approaching thud of hoofs. MacDonald 
had been gone nearer two hours than one, and believing 
that it was him, Aldous gave the owl signal. The signal 
floated back to them softly. Five minutes later Mac- 
Donald rode up and dismounted. Until he had taken the 
saddle off, and had hobbled his horse, he did not speak. 
Neither Joanne nor Aldous asked the question that was in 
their hearts. But even in the darkness they felt something. 
It was as if not only the torrent rushing through the chasm, 
but MacDonald’s heart as well, was charging the air with 
isb strange and subdued excitement. And when Mac- 
Donald spoke, that which they had felt was in his voice. 

“You ain’t seen or heard anything, Johnny?” 

“ Nothing. And you — ^Donald ? ” 

In the darkness, Joanne went to the old man, and her 
hand found one of his, and clasped it tightly; and she foimd 
that Donald MacDonald’s big hand was trembling in a 
strange and curious way, and she could feel him quivering. 

“You found Jane?” she whispered. 

“Yes, I foimd her, little Joanne.” 

She did not let go of his hand until they entered the 
open space which Aldous had made in the spruce. Then 
she remembered what Aldous had said to her earher in 
the day, and cheerfully she lighted the two candles they 


286 


THE HUNTED WOMAN 


hacf set out, and forced Aldous down first upon the ground, 
and then MacDonald, and began to help them to beans and 
meat and bannock, while all the time her heart was crying 
out to know about the cavern — ^and Jane. The candle- 
glow told her a great deal, for in it Donald MacDonald’s 
face was very calm, and filled with a great peace, despite 
the trembling she had felt. Her woman’s sympathy told 
her that his heart was too full on this night for speech, and 
when he ate but little she did not urge him to eat more; and 
when he rose and went silently and alone out into the 
darkness she held Aldous back; and when, still a little 
later, she went into her nest for the night, she whispered 
softly to him: 

‘‘I know that he found Jane as he wanted to find her, 
and he is happy. I think he has gone out there alone — 
to cry.” And for a time after that, as he sat in the gloom, 
John Aldous knew that Joanne was sobbing like a little 
child in the spruce and cedar shelter he had built for her. 


CHAPTER XXVm 


I F MacDONALD slept at all that night Aldous did 
not know it. The old mountaineer watched until a 
little after twelve in the deep shadow of a rock between 
the two camps. 

‘‘I can’t sleep,” he protested, when Aldous urged him 
to take his rest. “I might take a little stroll up the plain, 
Johnny — ^but I can’t sleep.” 

The plain lay in a briUiant starlight at this hour; they 
could see the gleam of the snow-peaks — the light was al- 
most like the glow of the moon. 

‘‘There’ll be plenty of sleep after to-morrow,” added 
MacDonald, and there was a finahty in his voice and words 
which set the other’s blood stirring. 

“You think they will show up to-morrow?” 

“Yes. This is the same valley the cabins are in, 
Johnny. That big mountain runs out an’ splits it, an’ it 
curves like a horseshoe. From that mount’in we can see 
them, no matter which way they come. They’ll go straight 
to the cabins. There’s a deep little run imder the slope. 
You didn’t see it when we came out, but it’ll take us within 

a himderd yards of ’em. An’ at a himderd yards ” 

He shrugged his shoulders suggestively in the starlight, 
and there was a smile on his face. 

“It seems almost like murder,” shuddered Aldous. 

“But it ain’t,” replied MacDonald quickly. “It’s 
287 


£88 


THE HUNTED WOMAN 


self-defence! If we don’t do it, Johnny — if we don*t 
draw on them first, what happened there forty years ago 
is goin’ to happen again — ^with Joanne!” 

“A hundred yards,” breathed Aldous, his jaws setting 
hard. “And there are five ! ” 

“They’ll go into the cabins,” said MacDonald. *‘At 
some time there wiU be two or three outside, an’ we’ll 
take them first. At the sound of the shots the others will 
run out, and it will be easy. Yo’ can’t very well miss a 
man at a himderd yards, Johnny?” 

“No, I won’t miss.” 

MacDonald rose. 

“I’m goin’ to take a little stroll, Johnny.” 

For two hours after that Aldous was alone. He knew 
why old Donald could not sleep, and where he had gone, 
and he pictured him sitting before the little old cabin in 
the starlit valley commiming with the spirit of Jane. And 
during those two hours he steeled himself for the last time 
to the thing that was going to happen when the day 
came. 

It was nearly three o’clock when MacDonald returned. 
It was four o’clock before he roused Joanne; and it was 
five o’clock when they had eaten their breakfast, and Mac- 
Donald prepared to leave for the mountain with his 
telescope. Aldous had observed Joanne talking to him 
for several minutes alone, and he had also observed 
that her eyes were very bright, and that there was an 
unusual eagerness in her manner of listening to what the 
old man was saying. The significance of this did not occur 
to him when she urged him to accompany MacDonald. 

“Two pairs of eyes are better than one, John.” she saicL 


THE HUNTED WOMAN 


289 


‘‘and I cannot possibly be in danger here. I can see 
you all the time, and you can see me — if I don’t run away, 
or hide.” And she laughed a little breathlessly. “There 
is no danger, is there, Donald?” 

The old hunter shook his head. 

“There’s no danger, but — ^you might be lonesome,” he 
said. 

Joanne put her pretty mouth close to Aldpus’ ear. 

“I want to be alone for a little while, dear,” she whis- 
pered, and there was that mystery in her voice which 
kept him from questioning her, and made him go with 
MacDonald. 

In three quarters of an hour they had reached the spur 
of the mountain from which MacDonald had said they 
could see up the valley, and also the break through which 
they had come the preceding afternoon. The morning 
mists still hung low, but as these melted away imder the 
sun mile after mile of a marvellous panorama spread out 
swiftly under them, and as the distance of their vision 
grew, the deeper became the disappointment in Mac- 
Donald’s face. For half an hour after the mists had 
gone he neither spoke nor lowered the telescope from his 
eyes. A mile away Aldous saw three caribou crossing 
the valley. A little later, on a green slope, he discerned 
a moving hulk that he knew was a bear. He did not speak 
until old Donald lowered the glass. 

“I can see for eight miles up the valley, an’ there ain’t 
a soul in sight,” said MacDonald in answer to his question. 
“I figgered they’d be along about now, Johnny.” 

A dozen times Aldous had looked back at the camp. 
Twice he had seen Joanne. He looked now through the 


290 


THE HUNTED WOMAN 


telescope. She was nowhere in sight. A bit nervously 
he returned the telescope to MacDonald. 

“And I can’t see Joanne,” he said. 

MacDonald looked. For five minutes he levelled the 
glass steadily at the camp. Then he shifted it slowly 
westward, and a low exclamation broke from his lips as 
he lowered the glass, and looked at Aldous. 

“Johnny, she’s just goin’ into the gorge! She was jusf 
disappearin’ when I caught her!” 

“Going into — the gorge!” gasped Aldous, jumping to 
his feet. “Mac ” 

MacDonald rose and stood at his side. There was 
something reassuring in the rumbling laugh that came 
from deep in his chest. 

“She’s beat us!” he chuckled. “Bless her, she’s beat 
us! I didn’t guess why she was askin’ me all them ques- 
tions. An’ I told her, Johnny — told her just where the 
cavern was up there in the gorge, an’ how you wouldn’t 
hardly miss it if you tried. An’ she asked me how long 
it would take to walk there, an’ I told her half an hour. 
An’ she’s going to the cavern, Johnny!” 

He was telescoping his long glass as he spoke, and while 
Aldous was still staring toward the gorge in wonderment 
and a little fear, he added: 

“We’d better follow. Quade an’ Rann can’t get here 
inside o’ two or three hours, an’ we’ll be back before then.” 
Again he rumbled with that curious chuckling laugh, 
“She beat us, Johnny, she beat us fair! An’ she’s got 
spirrit, a wunnerful spirrit, to go up there alone!” 

Aldous wanted to run, but he held himself down to 
MacDonald’s stride. His heart trembled apprehensively 


THE HUNTED WOMAN 


£91 


as they hurriedly descended the mountain and cut across 
the plain. He could not quite bring himself to Mac-( 
Donald’s point of assurance regarding Quade and Mor- 
timer FitzHugh. The old mountaineer was positive that 
the other party was behind them. Aldous asked himself 
if it were not possible that Quade and FitzHugh were 
ahead of them, and already waiting and watching for their 
opportunity. He had suggested that they might have 
Swung farther to the west, with the plan of descending upon 
the valley from the north, and MacDonald had pointed 
out how imlikely this was. In spite of this, Aldous was 
not in a comfortable frame of mind as they hurried after 
Joanne. She had half an hour’s start of them when they 
reached the mouth of the gorge, and not until they had 
travelled another half-hour up the rough bed of the break 
between the two mountains, and MacDonald pointed ahead, 
and said : ‘‘There’s the cavern ! ” did he breathe easier. 

They could see the mouth of the cavern when they were 
yet a couple of hundred yards from it. It was a wide, 
low cleft in the north face of the chasm wall, and in front 
of it, spreading out like the flow of a stream, was a great 
spatter of white sand, like a huge rug that had been spread 
out in a space cleared of its chaotic litter of rock and 
broken slate. At first glance Aldous guessed that the 
cavern had once been the exit of a subterranean stream. 
The sand deadened the sound of their footsteps as they 
approached. At the mouth of the cave they paused. It 
was perhaps forty or fifty feet deep, and as high as a nine- 
foot room. Inside it was quite light. Halfway to the^ 
back of it, upon her knees, and with her face turned from) 
them, was Joanno. 


m 


THE HUNTED WOMAN 


They were very close to her before she heard them. 
With a startled cry she sprang to her feet, and Aldous 
and MacDonald saw what she had been doing. Over a 
long mound in the white sand still rose the sapling stake 
which Donald had planted there forty years before; and 
about this, and scattered over the grave, were dozens of 
wild asters and purple hyacinths which Joanne had brought 
from the plain. Aldous did not speak, but he took her 
hand, and looked down with her on the grave. And then 
something caught his eyes among the flowers, and Joanne 
drew him a step nearer, her eyes shining like velvet stars, 
while his heart beat faster when he saw what the object 
was. It was a book, open in the middle, and it lay face 
downward on the grave. It was old, and looked as though 
it might have fallen into dust at the touch of his finger. 
Joanne’s voice was low and filled with a whispering awe. 

‘Tt was her Bible, John ! ” 

He turned a little, and noticed that Donald had gone 
to the mouth of the cavern, and was looking toward the 
mountain. 

‘‘It was her Bible,” he heard Joanne repeating; and 
then MacDonald turned toward them, and he saw in his 
face a look that seemed strange and out of place in this 
home of his dead. He went to him, and Joanne followed. 

MacDonald had turned again — was listening — and 
holding his breath. Then he said, still with his face 
toward the moimtain and the valley: 

“I may be mistaken, Johnny, but I think I heard — a 
rifle-shot!” 

For a full minute they listened. 

“It seemed off there,” said MacDonald, pointing tc 


THE HUNTED WOMAN 293 

the south. ‘T guess we’d better get back to camp, 
Johnny.” 

He started ahead of them, and Aldous followed as 
swiftly as he could with Joanne. She was panting with ex- 
citement, but she asked no questions. MacDonald began 
to spring more quickly from rock to rock; over the level 
spaces he began to run. He reached the edge of the plain 
four or five hundred yards in advance of them, and was 
scanning the valley through his telescope when they came 
up. 

“They’re not on this side,” he said. “They’re cornin' 
up the other leg of the valley, Johnny. We’ve got to get 
to the mount’in before we can see them.” 

He closed the glass with a snap and swung it over his 
shoulder. Then he pointed toward the camp. 

“Take Joanne down there,” he commanded. “Watch 
the break we came through, an’ wait for me. I’m goin* 
up on the mount’in an’ take a look ! ” 

The last words came back over his shoulder as he started 
on a trot down the slope. Only once before had Aldous 
seen MacDonald employ greater haste, and that was on the 
night of the attack on Joanne. He was convinced there 
was no doubt in Donald’s mind about the rifle-shot, and 
that the shot could mean but one thing — ^the nearness 
of Mortimer FitzHugh and Quade. Why they should 
reveal their presence in that way he did not ask himself as 
he hurried down into the plain with Joanne. By the time 
they reached the camp old Donald had covered two 
thirds of the distance to the mountain, Aldous looked at 
his watch and a ciu-ious thrill shot through him. Only a 
little more than an hour had passed since they had 


294 


THE HUNTED WOMAN 


the mountain to follow Joanne, and in that time it would 
have been impossible for their enemies to have covered 
more than a third of the eight-mile stretch of valley which 
they had found empty of human life under the searching 
scrutiny of the telescope ! He was right — and MacDonald 
was wrong! The sound of the shot, if there had been a 
shot, must have come from some other direction! 

He wanted to shout his warning to MacDonald, but 
already too great a distance separated them. Besides, if hf 
was right, MacDonald would run into no danger in that 
direction. Their menace was to the north — beyond the 
chasm out of which came the rumble and roar of the 
stream. When Donald had disappeared up the slope he 
looked more closely at the rugged walls of rock that shut 
them in on that side. He could see no break in them# 
His eyes followed the dark streak in the floor of the plain, 
which was the chasm. It was two hundred yards below 
where they were standing; and a hundred yards beyond 
the tepee he saw where it came out of a great rent in the 
mountain. He looked at Joanne. She had been watch- 
ing him, and was breathing quickly. 

‘‘While Donald is taking his look from the mountain, 
I’m going to investigate the chasm,” he said. 

She followed him, a few steps behind. The roar grew 
in their ears as they advanced. After a little solid rock 
replaced the earth unSer their feet, and twenty paces 
from the precipice Aldous took Joanne by the hand. 
They went to the edge and looked over. Fifty feet below 
them the stream was caught in the narrow space between 
the two chasm walls, and above the rush and roar of it 
AMous heard the startled cry that came from Joanne* 


THE HUNTED WOMAN 




She clutched his hand fiercely. Fascinated she gazed 
down. The water, speeding like a millrace, was a lather 
of foam; and up through this foam there shot the crests 
of great rocks, as though huge monsters of some kind were 
at play, whipping the torrent into greater fury, and bel- 
lowing forth thunderous voices. Downstream Aldous 
could see that the tumult grew less; from the rent in the 
mountain came the deeper, more distant-rolling thunder 
that they had heard on the other side of the range. And 
then, as he looked, a sharper cry broke from Joanne, and 
she dragged him back from the ledge, and pointed toward 
the tepee. 

Out from among the rocks had appeared a hmnan figure. 
It was a woman. Her hair was streaming wildly about 
her, and in the sun it was black as a crowds wing. She 
rushed to the tepee, opened the flap, and looked in. Then 
she turned, and a cry that was almost a scream rang from 
her lips. In another moment she had seen Aldous and 
Joanne, and was nmning toward them. They advanced 
to meet her. Suddenly Aldous stopped, and with a sharp 
warning to Joanne he threw his rifle half to his shoulder, 
and faced the rocks from which the speeding figure had 
come. In that same instant they both recognized her. 
It was Marie, the woman who had ridden the bear at 
Tete Jaune, and with whom Mortimer FitzHugh had 
bought Joe DeBar! 

She staggered up to them, panting, exhausted, her breath 
coming in gulping sobs. For a moment she could not 
speak. Her dress was torn; her waist was ripped so that 
it exposed her throat and shoulder; and the front of the 
Waist and her face were stained with blood. Her black 


THE HUNTED WOMAN 


eyes shone like a madwoman’s. Fiercely she fought to 
get her breath, and all the time she clung to Joanne, and 
looked at Aldous. She pointed toward the rocks — the 
chaotic upheaval that lay between the tepee and the chasm 
— and words broke gaspingly from her lips. 

‘‘They’re coming! — coming!” she cried. “They killed 
Joe- ‘—murdered him — and they’re coming — to kill you!” 
She clutched a hand to her breast, and then pointed with 
it to the mountain where MacDonald had gone. “They 
saw him go — and they sent two men to kill him; and the 
rest are coming through the rocks ! ” She turned sobbingly 
to Joanne. “They killed Joe,” she moaned. “They killed 
Joe, and they’re coming — for you I ” 

The emphasis on that final word struck like a blow in, 
the ears of John Aldous. 

“Run for the spruce!” he commanded. “Joanne, 
run!” 

Marie had crumpled down in a moaning heap at Joanne’s 
feet, and sat swaying with her face in her hands. 

“They killed him — they murdered my Joe!” she was 
sobbing. “And it was my fault — ^my fault! I trapped 
him! I sold him! And, oh, my God, I loved him— I 
loved him!” 

“Run, Joanne!” commanded Aldous a second time. 
*‘ Run for the spruce ! ” 

Instead of obeying him, Joanne knelt down beside 
Marie. 

He went to speak again, but there came an interruption 
— a thing that was like the cold touch of lead in his own 
heart. From up on the mountain where the old moun- 
taineer had walked into the face of death there came the 


THE HUNTED WOMAN 


£97 


tsharp, splitting report of a rifle; and in that same instant 
it was followed by another and still a third — quick, sting- 
ing, whiplike reports — and he knew that not one of them 
had come from the gim of Donald MacDonald ! 

And then he saw that the rocks behind the tepee had 
become suddenly alive with men! 


CHAPTER XXIX 


S HEER amazement made Aldous hold bis fire in 
that first moment. Marie had said that two men 
were after MacDonald. He had heard three 
shots nearly a mile away, and she was still sobbing that 
DeBar was dead. That accoimted for three. He had 
expected to see only Quade, and FitzHugh, and one other 
behind the tepee. And there were six! He counted them 
as they came swiftly out from the shelter of the rocks to the 
level of the plain. He was about to fire when he thought 
of Joanne and Marie. They were still behind him, crouch- 
ing upon the ground. To fire from where he stood would 
draw a fusillade of bullets in their direction, and with 
another warning cry to Joanne, he sped twenty paces to 
one side so that they would not be within range. Not 
until then did the attacking party see him. 

At a hundred and fifty yards he had no time to pick out 
Quade or Mortimer FitzHugh. He fiired first at a group of 
three, and one of the three crumpled down as though his 
skull had been crushed from above. A rifle spat back 
at him and the bullet sang like a ripping cloth close over 
his head. He dropped to his knees before he fired again, 
and a bullet clove the air where he had stood. The crack 
of rifles did not hurry him. He knew that he had six 
cartridges, and only six, and he aimed deliberately. At 
his second shot the man he had fired at ran forward three 


THE HUNTED WOMAN 


299 


>or four steps, and then pitched flat on his face. For a 
flash Aldous thought that it was Mortimer FitzHugh. 
Then, along his gun barrel, he saw FitzHugh — and pulled 
the trigger. It was a miss. 

Two men had dropped upon their knees and were aiming 
more carefully. He swung his sight to the foremost, and 
drove a bullet straight through his chest. The next 
moment something seemed to have fallen upon him with 
crushing weight. A red sea rose before his eyes. In it 
he was submerged; the roar of it filled his ears; it blinded 
him; and in the suffocating embrace of it he tried to cry 
out. He fought himself out of it, his eyes cleared, and h^ 
could see again. His rifle was no longer in his hands, and 
he was standing. Twenty feet away men were rushing 
upon him. His brain recovered itself with the swiftness 
of lightning. A bullet had stunned him, but he was not 
badly hurt. He jerked out his automatic, but before he 
could raise it, or even fire from his hip, the first of his as- 
sailants was upon him with a force that drove it from his 
hand. They went down together, and as they struggled 
on the bare rock Aldous caught for a fraction of a second 
a scene that burned itself like fire in his brain. He saw 
Mortimer FitzHugh with a revolver in his hand. He 
had stopped; he was staring like one looking upon the 
ghost of the dead, and as he stared there rose above 
the rumbling roar of the chasm a wild and terrible shriek 
from Joanne. 

Aldous saw no more then. He was not fighting for his 
life, but for her, and he fought with the mad ferocity of a 
tiger. As he struck, and choked, and beat the head of his 
assailant on the rock, he heard shriek after shriek come 


soo 


THE HUNTED WOMAN 


from Joanne’s lips; and then for a flash he saw them again, 
and Joanne was struggling in the arms of Quade! 

He struggled to his knees, and the man he was flghting 
struggled to his knees; and then they came to their feet, 
locked in a death-grip on the edge of the .chasm. From 
Quade’s clutch he saw Joanne staring at Mortimer Fitz- 
Hugh; then her eyes shot to him, and with another shriek 
she fought to free herself. 

For thirty seconds of that terrible drama Mortimer 
FitzHugh stood as if hewn out of rock. Then he sprang 
toward the fighters. 

In the arms of John Aldous was the strength of ten men. 
He twisted the head of his antagonist under his arm; 
he braced his feet — in another moment he would have 
flung him bodily into the roaring maelstrom below. Even 
as his muscles gathered themselves for the final effort 
he knew that all was lost. Mortimer FitzHugh’s face 
leered over his shoulder, his demoniac intention was in his 
eyes before he acted. With a cry of hatred and of triumph 
he shoved them both over the edge, and as Aldous plimged 
to tlie depths below, still holding to his enemy, he heard a 
last piercing scream from Joanne. 

As the rock slid away from under his feet his first 
thought was that the end had come, and that no living 
creature could live in the roaring maelstrom of rock and 
flood into which he was plunging. But quicker than he 
dashed through space his mind worked. Instinctively, 
without time for reasoning, he gripped at the fact that his 
one chance lay in the close embrace of his enemy. He 
hung to him. It seemed to him that they turned over and 
over a hundred times in that distance of feet. Then 


THE HUNTED WOMAN 


301 


a mass of twisting foam broke under him, and up out of it 
shot the head of one of the roaring monsters of rock that 
he and Joanne had looked upon. They struck it fairly, 
and Aldous was uppermost. He felt the terrific impact 
of the other’s body. The foam boiled upward again, and 
they slipped off into the flood. 

Still Aldous held to his enemy. He could feel that he 
was limp now; he no longer felt the touch of the hands 
that had choked him, or the embrace of the arms that had 
struggled with him. He believed that his antagonist was 
dead. The fifty-foot fall, with the rock splitting his back, 
had killed him. For a moment Aldous still clung to him 
as they sank together imder the smface, torn and twisted 
by the whirling eddies and whirlpools. It seemed to him 
that they would never cease going down, that they wen? 
sinking a vast distance. 

Dully he felt the beat of rocks. Then it flashed upon 
him that the dead man was sinking like a weighted thing. 
He freed himself. Fiercely he struggled to bring himself 
to the surface. It seemed an eternity before he rose to the 
top. He opened his mouth and drew a great gulp of air 
into his lungs. The next instant a great rock reared like 
a living thing in his face; he plimged against it, was beaten 
over it, and again he was going down — down — in that 
deadly clutch of maelstrom and undertow. Again he 
fought, and again he came to the surface. He saw a blacky 
slippery wall gliding past him with the speed of an express 
train. And now it seemed as though a thousand clubs 
were beating him. Ahead of him were rocks — nothing 
but rocks. 

He shot through them like a piece of driftwood. The 

/ 


302 


THE HUNTED WOMAN 


roaring in his ears grew less, and he felt the touch of some* 
thing under his feet. Sunlight burst upon him. He 
caught at a rock, and hung to it. His eyes cleared a little. 
He was within ten feet of a shore covered with sand and 
gravel. The water was smooth and running with a 
musical ripple. Waist-deep he waded through it to the 
shore, and fell down upon his knees, with his face buried in 
his arms. He had been ten minutes in the death-grip of 
the chasm. It was another ten minutes before he stag* 
gered to his feet and looked about him. 

His face was beaten until he was almost blind. His 
shirt had been torn from his shoulders and his flesh was 
bleeding. He advanced a few steps. He raised one arm 
and then the other. He limped. One arm hurt h±^ 
when he moved it, but the bone was sound. He was 
terribly mauled, but he knew that no bones were broken, 
and a gasp of thankfulness fell from his lips- All this 
time his mind had been suffering even more than his body. 
Not for an instant, even as he fought for life between the 
chasm walls, and as he lay half unconscious on the rock, 
had he forgotten Joanne. His one thought was of her 
now. He had no weapon, but as he stumbled in the di- 
rection of the camp in the Httle plain he picked up a club 
that lay in his path. 

That MacDonald was dead, Aldous was certain. There 
would be four against him — Quade and Mortimer FitzHugh 
and the two men who had gone to the mountain. His 
brain cleared swiftly as a part of his strength returned, 
and it occurred to him that if he lost no time he might 
come upon Joanne and her captors before the two men 
came from killing old Donald. He tried to run. No? 


THE HUNTED WOMAN 


303 


until then did he fully realize the condition he was in. 
Twice in the first hundred yards his legs doubled under 
him and he fell down among the rocks. He grew steadily 
stronger, though each time he tried to run or spring a 
distance of a few feet his legs doubled under him like 
thato It took him twenty minutes to get back to the 
edge of the ^lain, and when he got there it was empty. 
There was no sign of Quade or FitzHugh, or of Joanne 
and Marie; and there was no one coming from the direction 
of the mountain. 

He tried to run again, and he found that over the level 
floor of the valley he could make faster time than among 
the rocks. He went to where he had dropped his rifle. 
It was gone. He searched for his automatic. That, too, 
was gone. There was one weapon left — a long skinning- 
k^ife in one of the panniers near the tepee. As he went 
for this, he passed two of the men whom he had shot. 
Quade and FitzHugh had taken their weapons, and had 
turned them over to see if they were alive or dead. They 
were dead. He secured the knife, and behind the tepee 
he passed the third body, its face as still and white as the 
others. He shuddered as he recognized it. It was Slim 
Barker. His rifle was gone. 

More swiftly now he made his way into the break out of 
which his assailants had come a short time before. The 
thought came to him again that he had been right, and 
that Donald MacDonald, in spite of all his years in the 
mountains, had been fatally wrong. Their enemies had 
come down from the north, and this break led to their 
hiding-place. Through it Joanne must have been taken 
by her captors. As he made his way over the rocks, gain- 


S04 


THE HUNTED WOMAN 


ing a little more of his strength with each step, his mind 
tried to picture the situation that had now arisen between 
Quade and Mortimer FitzHugh. How would Quade, who 
was mad for possession of Joanne, accept FitzHugh’s claim 
of ownership? Would he believe his partner? Would 
he even believe Joanne if, to save herself from him, she 
told him FitzHugh was her husband? Even if he believed 
them, would he give her up f Would Quade allow Mortimer 
FitzHugh to stand between him and the object for which 
he was willing to sacrifice everything? 

As Aldous asked himself these questions his blood ran 
hot and cold by turns. And the answer to them drew a 
deep breath of fear and of anguish from him as he tried 
again to run among the rocks. There could be but one 
answer; Quade would fight. He would fight like a mad- 
man, and if this fight had happened and FitzHugh had 
been killed Joanne had already gone utterly and helplessly; 
into his power. He believed that FitzHugh had not 
revealed to Quade his relationship to Joanne while they 
were on the plain, and the thought still more terrible came 
to him that he might not reveal it at all, that he might 
repudiate Joanne even as she begged upon her knees for 
him to save her. What a revenge it would be to see her 
helpless and broken in the arms of Quade! And then, 
both being beasts 

He could think no fartner. The sweat broke out on his 
face as he hobbled faster over a level space. The sound 
of the water between the chasm walls was now a thunder 
in his ears. He could not have heard a rifle-shot or 
a scream a hundred yards away. The trail he was follow- 
ing had continually grown narrower. It seemed to end v 


THE HUNTED WOMAN 


305 


little ahead of him, and the fear that he had come the 
wrong way after all filled him with dread. He came to the 
face of the moimtain wall, and then, to his left, he saw a 
crack that was no wider than a man’s body. In it there 
was sand, and the sand was beaten by footprints! He 
wormed his way through, and a moment later stood at 
the edge of the chasm. Fifty feet above him a natural 
bridge of rock spanned the huge cleft through which the 
stream was rushing. He crossed this, exposing himself 
openly to a shot if it was guarded. But it was not guarded. 
This fact convinced him that MacDonald had been killed, 
and that his enemies believed he was dead. If MacDonald 
had escaped, and they had feared a possible pursuit, some 
one would have watched the bridge. 

The trail was easy to follow now. Sand and grassy 
earth had replaced rock and shale; he could make out the 
imprints of feet — ^many of them — and they led in the di- 
rection of a piece of timber that apparently edged a valley 
running to the east and west. The rumble of the torrent 
in the chasm grew fainter as he advanced. A couple of 
hundred yards farther on the trail swung to the left again; 
it took him around the end of a huge rock, and as he ap- 
peared from behind this, his knife clutched in his hand, he 
dropped suddenly flat on his face, and his heart rose like a 
lump in his throat. Scarcely fifty yards above him was 
the camp of his enemies! There were two tepees and piles 
of saddles and panniers and blankets about them, but not 
a soul that he could see. And then, suddenly, there rose 
a voice bellowing with rage, and he recognized it as Quade’s. 
It came from beyond the tepee, and he rose quickly from 
where he had thrown himself and ran forward, with the 


306 


THE HUNTED WOMAN 


tepee between him and those on the other side. Close to 
the canvas he dropped on his knees and crawled out behind 
a pile of saddles and panniers. From here he could see. 

So near that he could almost have touched them were 
Joanne and Marie, seated on the ground, with their backs 
toward him. Their hands were tied behind them. Their 
feet were bound with pannier ropes, A dozen paces be^. 
yond them were Quade and Mortimer FitzHugh. 

The two men were facing each other, a yard apart,. 
Mortimer FitzHugh’s face was white, a deadly white, and 
he was smiling. His right hand rested carelessly in his 
hunting-coat pocket. There was a sneering challenge on 
his lips; in his eyes was a look that Aldous knew meant 
death if Quade moved. And Quade was like a great red 
beast ready to spring. His eyes seemed bulging out on his 
cheeks; his great hands were knotted; his shoulders were 
hunched forward, and his mottled face was ablaze with 
passion. In that moment^s dramatic tableau Aldous 
glanced about swiftly. The men from the mountain had 
not returned. He was alone with Quade and Mortimer 
FitzHugh. 

Then FitzHugh spoke, very quietly, a little laughingly; 
but his voice trembled, and Aldous knew what the hand 
was doing in the hunting-coat pocket. 

“You’re excited, Billy,” he said. “I’m not a liar, as 
you’ve very impolitely told me. And I’m not playing 
you dirt, and I haven’t fallen in love with the lady myself, 
as you seem to think. But she belongs to me, body and 
soul. If you don’t believe me — ^why, ask the lady herself, 
Billy!” 

As he spoke, he tirmed his sneering eyes for the fraction 


THE HUNTED WOMAN 


307 


of a second toward Joanne. The movement was fatal* 
Quade was upon him. The hand in the coat pocket flung 
itself ipward, there followed a muflSed report, but the 
bullet flew wide. In all his life Aldous had never heard a 
sound like the roar that came from Quade’s throat then. 
He saw Mortimer FitzHugh’s hand appear with a pistol 
in it, and then the pistol was gone. He did not see where 
it went to. He gripped his knife and waited, his heart 
beating with what seemed like smothered explosions as he 
watched for the opportimity which he knew would soon 
come. He expected to see FitzHugh go down under 
Quade’s huge bulk. Instead of that, a small, iron flst 
shot upward and Quade’s head went back as if broken 
from his neck. 

FitzHugh sprang a step backward, and in the movement 
his heel caught the edge of a pack-saddle. He stumbled, 
almost fell, and before he could recover himself Quade was 
at him again. This time there was something in the red 
brute’s hand. It rose and fell once — and Mortimer Fitz- 
Hugh reeled backward with a moaning cry, swayed for 
a second or two on his feet, and fell to the groimd. Quade 
iumed. In his hand was a bloody knife. Madness 
and passion and the triumphant joy of a demon were in his 
face as he glared at his helpless prey. As Aldous crouched 
lower his shoulder touched one of the saddles. It slipped 
from the pile, one of the panniers followed it, and Quade 
saw him. There was no longer reason for concealment, 
and as Quade stood paralyzed for a moment Aldous 
sprang forth into the space between him and Joanne. 
He heard the cry that broke strangely from her lips but 
he did not turn his head. He advanced upon Quade^ 


808 THE HUNTED WOMAN 

his head lowered, the long skinning-knife gleaming in hi^ 
hand. 

John Aldous knew that words would avail notlling in 
these last few minutes between him and Quade. The 
latter had already himched himself forward, the red knife 
in his hand poised at his waistline. He was terrible. His 
huge bulk, his red face and bull neck, his eyes popping from 
behind their fleshy lids, and the dripping blade in the 
shapeless hulk of his hand gave him the appearance as he 
stood there of some monstrous gargoyle instead of a 
thing of flesh and blood. And Aldous was terrible to 
look at, but in a way that wrung a moaning cry from 
Joanne. His face was livid from the beat of the rocks; 
it was crusted with blood; his eyes were partly closed, and 
what remained of his shirt was drenched with blood that 
still ran from the deep cuts in his arms and shoulders. 
But it was he who advanced, and Quade who stood and 
waited. 

Aldous knew little or nothing of knife-fighting; and he 
realized, also, that there was a strange weakness in his 
arms and body caused by his battle with the maelstroms 
in the chasm. But he had wrestled a great deal with the 
Indians of the north, who fought as their half-wolf sledge^ 
dogs fought, and he employed their methods now. Slowly 
and deliberately he began to circle around Quade, so that 
Quade became the pivot of that circle, and as he circled 
he drew nearer and nearer to his enemy, but never in a 
frontal advance. He edged inward, with his knife-arm 
on the outside. His deadly deliberatenessx and the 
steady glare of his eyes discomfited Quade, who suddenly 
took a step backward. 


THE HUNTED WOMAN 


309 


It was always when the Indian made this step that his 
opponent darted in; and Aldous, with this in mind, sprang 
to the attack. Their knives clashed in midair. As they 
met, hilt to hilt, Aldous threw his whole weight against 
Quade, darted sidewise, and with a terrific lunge brought 
the blade of his knife down between Quade’s shoulders. A 
straight blade would have gone from back to chest through 
muscle and sinew, but the knife which Aldous held scarcely 
pierced the other’s clothes. 

Not until then did he fully realize the tremendous odds 
against him. The curved blade of his skinning-knife 
would not penetrate! His one hope was to cut with it. 
He flung out his arm before Quade had fully recovered, 
and blind luck carried the keen edge of the knife across 
his enemy’s pouchy cheek. The blood came in a spurt, 
and with a terrible cry Quade leaped back toward the 
pile of saddles and panniers. Before Aldous could follow 
his advantage the other had dropped his knife and had 
snatched up a foiir-foot length of a tepee pole. For a 
moment he hesitated while the blood ran in a hot flood 
down his thick neck. Then with a bellow of rage he 
rushed upon Aldous. 

It was no time for knife-work now. As the avalanche 
of brute strength descended upon him Aldous gathered 
himself for the shock. He had already measm^d his own 
weakness. Those ten minutes among the rocks of the 
chasm had broken and beaten him until his strength was 
gone. He was panting from his first onset with Quade, 
but his brain was working. And he knew that Quade was 
no longer a reasoning thing. He had ceased to think. 
He was blind with the passion of the brute, and his one 


310 


THE HUNTED WOMAN 


thought was to crush his enemy down under the weight o} 
the club in his huge hands. Aldous waited. He heard 
Joanne’s terrified scream when Quade was almost upon 
him — ^when less than five feet separated them. The club 
was descending when he flung himself forward, straight 
for the other’s feet. The club crashed over him, and with 
what strength he had he gripped Quade at the knees. 
With a tremendous thud Quade came to earth. The club 
broke from the grip of his hands. For a moment he was 
stunned, and in that moment Aldous was at his throat. 

He would have sold the best of his life for the skinning- 
knife. But he had lost it in gripping Quade. And now he 
choked — ^with evei^’’ ounce of strength in him he choked 
at the thick red neck of his enemy. Quade’s hands 
reached for his own throat. They found it. And both 
choked, lying there gasping and covered with blood, while 
Joanne struggled vainly to free herself, and scream after 
scream rang from her lips. And John Aldous knew that at 
last the end had come. For there was no longer strength 
in his arms, and there was something that was like a 
strange cramp in his fingers, while the clutch at his own 
throat was turning the world black. His grip relaxed. 
His hands fell limp. The last that he realized was that 
Quade was over him, and that he must be dying. 

Then it was, as he lay within a final second or two of 
death, no longer conscious of physical attack or of Joanne’s 
terrible cries, that a strange and unforeseen thing occurred. 
Beyond the tepee a man had risen from the earth. He 
staggered toward them, and it was from Marie that the 
wildest and strangest cry of all came now. For the man 
was Joe DeBar! In his hand he held a knife. Swaying 


THE HUNTED WOMAN 


311 


and stumbling he came to the fighters — ^from behind. 
Quade did not see him, and over Quade’s huge back he 
poised himself. The knife rose; for the fraction of a second 
it trembled in midair. Then it descended, and eight 
inches of steel went to the heart of Quade. 

And as DeBar turned and staggered toward Joanne and 
Marie, John AJdous was sinking deeper and deeper into a 
black and abysmal night. 


CHAPTER XXX 


I N THAT chaotic night in which he was drifting, light 
as a feather floating on the wind, John Aldous experi^ 
enced neither pain nor very much of the sense of life, 
And yet, without seeing or feeling, he seemed to be living. 
All was dead in him but that last consciousness, which ia 
almost the spirit; he might have been dreaming, and min- 
utes, hours, or even years might have passed in that dream. 
For a long time he seemed to be sinking through the black- 
ness; and then something stopped him, without jar or 
shock, and he was rising. He could hear nothing. There 
was a vast silence about him, a silence as deep and as 
unbroken as the abysmal pit in which he seemed to be 
softly floating. 

After a time Aldous felt himself swaying and rocking* 
as though tossed gently on the billows of a sea. This 
was the first thought that took shape in his struggling 
brain — ^he was at sea; he was on a ship in the heart of a 
black night, and he was alone. He tried to call out, but 
his tongue seemed gone. It seemed a very long time 
before day broke, and then it was a strange day. Little 
needles of light pricked his eyes; silver strings shot like 
flashes of weblike lightning through the darkness, and 
after that he saw for an instant a strange glare. It was 
gone in one big, powderlike flash, and he was in night 
again. These days and nights seemed to follow one an- 


THE HUNTED WOMAN 


S18 


other swiftly now, and the nights grew less dark, and tha 
days brighter. He was conscious of sounds and buffet- 
ings, and it was very hot. 

Out of this heat there came a cool, soft breeze that was 
continually caressing his face, and eyes, and head. It 
was like the touch of a spirit hand. It became more and 
more real to him. It caressed him into a dark and com- 
fortable oblivion. Out of this oblivion a still brighter 
day roused him. His brain seemed clear. He opened his 
eyes. A white cloud was hovering over them; it fell softly; 
it was cool and gentle. Then it rose again, and it was 
not a cloud, but a hand! The hand moved away, and he 
was looking into a pair of wide-open, staring, prayerful 
eyes, and a little cry came to him, and a voice. 

John— John ” 

He was drifting again, but now he knew that he wa^; 
alive. He heard movement. He heard voices. They 
were growing nearer and more distinct. He tried to cry 
out Joanne’s name, and it came in a whispering breath 
between his lips. But Joanne heard; and he heard her 
calling to him; he felt her hands; she was imploring him to 
open his eyes, to speak to her. It seemed many minutes 
before he could do this, but at last he succeeded. And 
this time his vision was not so blurred. He could see 
plainly. Joanne was there, hovering over him, and just 
beyond her was the great bearded face of Donald Mac- 
Donald. And then, before words had formed on his lips., 
he did a wonderful thing. He smiled. 

“O my God, I thank Thee!” he heard Joanne cry out, 
and then she was on her knees, and her face was against 
bis, and she was sobbing. 


S14 


THE HUNTED WOMAN 


He knew that it was MacDonald who drew her away. 

The great head bent over him. 

‘‘Take this, will ’ee, Johnny boy.?^” 

Aldous stared. 

“Mac, you’re — alive,” he breathed. 

“Alive as ever was, Johnny. Take this.” 

He swallowed. And then Joanne hovered over him 
again, and he put up his hands to her face, and her glorious 
eyes were swimming seas as she kissed him and choked 
back the sobs in her throat. He buried his fingers in her 
hair. He held her head close to him, and for many 
minutes no one spoke, while MacDonald stood and looked 
down on them. In those minutes everything returned 
to him. The fight was over. MacDonald had come in 
time to save him from Quade. But — ^and now his eyes 
stared upward through the sheen of Joanne’s hair — ^he was 
in a cabin! He recognized it. It was Donald Mac- 
Donald’s old home. When Joanne raised her head he 
looked about him without speaking. He was in the wide 
bunk built against the wall. Sunlight was filtering through 
a white curtain at the window, and in the open door he 
saw the anxious face of Marie. 

He tried to lift himself, and was amazed to find that he 
could not. Very gently Joanne urged him back on his 
pillow. Her face was a glory of life and of joy. He 
obeyed her as he would have obeyed the hand of the 
Madonna. She saw all his questioning. 

“You must be quiet, John,” she said, and never had he 
heard in her voice the sweetness of love that was in it now. 
“We will tell you everything — ^Donald and I. But you 
must be quiet. You were terribly beaten among the rocks 


THE HUNTED WOMAN 


315 


We brought you here at noon, and the sun is setting — and 
until now you have not opened your eyes. Everything is 
well. But you must be quiet. You were terribly bruised 
by the rocks, dear.” 

It was sweet to he under the caresses of her hand. He 
drew her face down to him. 

“Joanne, my darling, you understand now — ^why I 
wanted to come alone into the North ” 

Her Ups pressed warm and soft against his. 

“I know,” she whispered, and he could feel her arms 
trembling, and her breath coming quickly. Gently she 
drew away from him. “I am going to make you some 
broth,” she said then. 

He watched her as she went out of the cabin, one white 
hand lifted to her throat. 

Old Donald MacDonald seated himself on the edge of 
the bimk. He looked down at Aldous, chuckling in his 
beard; and Aldous, with his bruised and swollen face and 
half-open eyes, grinned like a happy fiend. 

“It was a wimerful, wunerful fight, Johnny!” said old 
Donald. 

“It was, Mac. And you came in fine on the home 
stretch!” 

“What d’ye mean — Thorne stretch?” queried Donald 
leaning over. 

“You saved me from Quade.” 

Donald fairly groaned. 

“I didn’t, Johnny — I didn’t! DeBar killed ’im. It 
was all over when I come. On’y — ^Johnny — I had a most 
cur’ous word with Culver Rann afore he died!” 

In his eagerness Aldous was again trying to sit up when 


S16 


THE HUNTED WOMAN 


Joanne appeared in the doorway. With a little cry she 
darted to him, forced him gently^back, and brushed old 
Donald oflF the edge of the bunk. 

“Go out and watch the broth, Donald,” she commanded 
firmly. Then she said to Aldous, stroking back his hair, 
“I forbade you to talk. John, dear, aren’t you going to 
mind me?” 

“Did Quade get me with the knife? ” he asked. 

“No, no.” 

“Am I shot?” 

“No, dear.” 

“Any bones broken?” 

“Donald says not.” 

*‘Then please give me my pipe, Joanne — ^and let me get 
up. Why do you want me to lie here when I’m strong 
like an ox, as Donald says?” 

Joanne laughed happily. 

“You are getting better every minute,” she cried joy- 
ously. “But you were terribly beaten by the rocks, John. 
If you will wait until you have the broth I will let you sit 
up.” 

A few minutes later, when he had swallowed his broth, 
Joanne kept her promise. Only then did he realize 
that there was not a bone or a muscle in his body that did 
not have its own particular ache. He grimaced when 
Joanne and Donald bolstered him up with blankets at 
his back. But he was happy. Twilight was coming 
swiftly, and as Joanne gave the final pats and turns to the 
blankets and pillows, MacDonald was fighting half a 
dozen candles placed around the roonx 

“Aixy watch to-night, Donald?” 


THE HUNTED WOMAN 317 

^No, Johnny, there ain’t no watch to-night,” replied 
the old mountaineer. 

He came and seated himself on a bench with Joanne, 
For half an hour after that Aldous listened to a recital 
of the strange things that had happened — ^how poor marks- 
manship had saved MacDonald on the mountainside, 
and how at last the duel had ended with the old hun- 
ter killing those who had come to slay him. When they 
came to speak of DeBar, Joanne leaned nearer to Al- 
dous. 

"It is wonderful what love will sometimes ao,” she 
spoke softly. "In the last few hours Marie has bared her 
soul to me, John. What she has been she has not tried 
to hide from me, nor even from the man she loves. She 
I7as one of Mortimer FitzHugh’s tools. DeBar saw her 
jmd loved her, and she sold lierself to him in exchange for 
the secret of the gold. When they came into the North 
the wonderful thing happened. She loved DeBar — ^not 
in the way of her kind, but as a woman in whom had been 
born a new heart and ? ^ew soul and a new joy. She 
defied FitzHugh; she told DeBar how she had tricked 
him. 

"This morning FitzHugh attempted his old familiarity 
with her, and DeBar struck him down. The act gave 
them excuse for what they had planned to do. Before hef 
eyes Marie thought they had killed the man she loved. 
She flung herself on his breast, and she said she could not 
feel his heart beat, and his blood flowed warm against 
her hands and face. Both she and DeBar had determined 
to warn us if they could. Only a few minutes before 
DeBar was stabbed he had let off his rifle — an accident, he 


S18 


THE HUNTED WOMAN 


said. But it was not an accident. It was the shot Don- 
ald heard in the cavern. It saved us, John! And Marie, 
waiting her opportunity, fled to us in the plain. DeBar 
was not killed. He says my screams brought him back 
to life. He came out — and killed Quade with a knife. 
Then he fell at our feet. A few minutes later Donald 
came. DeBar is in another cabin. He is not fatally 
hurt, and Marie is happy.” 

She was stroking his hand when she finished. The 
curious rumbling came softly in MacDonald’s beard and 
his eyes were bright with a whimsical humour. 

‘T pretty near bored a hole through poor Joe when I 
come up,” he chuckled. “But you bet I hugged him when 
I found what he’d done, Johnny ! Joe says their camp wat 
just over the range from us that night FitzHugh looked us 
up, an’ Joanne thought she’d been dreamin’. He didn’t 
have any help, but his intention was to finish us alone- 
murder us asleep — ^when Joanne cried out. Joe says it 
was just a devil’s freak that took ’im to the top of the 
mountain alone that night. He saw our fire an’ came down 
to investigate.” 

A low voice was calling outside the door. It was Marie. 
As Joanne went to her a quick gleam came into old 
Donald’s eyes. He looked behind him cautiously to see 
that she had disappeared, then he bent over Aldous, and 
whispered hoarsely: 

“Johnny, I had a most cur’ous word with Rann — or 
FitzHugh — ^afore he died ! He wasn’t dead when I went to 
him. But he knew he was dyin®; an’ Johnny, he was 
smilin’ an’ cool to the end. I wanted to ask ’im a question, 
Johnny. I was dead cur’ous to know why the grave were 


THE HUNTED WOMAN 


319 


empty 1 But lie asked for Joanne, an’ I couldn’t break 
in on his last breath. I brought her. The first thing he 
asked her was how people had took it when they found out 
he’d poisoned his father! When Joanne told him no one 
had ever thought he’d killed his father, FitzHugh sat 
leanin’ against the saddles for a minit so white an’ still I 
thought he ’ad died with his eyes open. Then it came 
out, Johnny. He was smilin’ as he told it. He killed 
his father with poison to get his money. Later he came to 
America. He didn’t have time to tell us how he come to 
think they’d discovered his crime. He was dyin’ as he 
talked. It came out sort o’ slobberingly, Johnny. He 
thought they’d found ’im out. He changed his name, an’ 
sent out the report that Mortimer FitzHugh had died in 
the mount’ins. But Johnny, he died afore I could ask 
him about the grave I ” 

There was a final note of disappointment in old Don- 
ald’s voice that was almost pathetic. 

‘Tt was such a cur’ous grave,” he said. ‘‘An’ the clothes 
were laid out so prim an’ nice.” 

Aldous laid his hand on MacDonald’s. 

“It’s easy, Mac,” he said, and he wanted to laugh at 
the disappointment that was still in the other’s face. 
“Don’t you see.^^ He never expected any one to dig into 
the grave. And he put the clothes and the watch and the 
ring in there to get rid of them. They might have revealed 
his identity. Why, Donald ” 

Joanne was coming to them again. She laid a cool 
hand on his forehead and held up a warning finger to Mac- 
Donald. 

“Hush!” she said gently. “Your head is very hot. 


820 


THE HUNTED WOMAN 


dear, and there must be no more talking. You must lits 
down and sleep. Tell John good-night, Donald!” 

Like a boy MacDonald did as she told him. and dis- 
appeared through the cabin door. Joanne levelled the 
pillows and lowered John’s head. 

‘T can’t sleep, Joanne,” he protested. 

‘T will sit here close at your side and stroke your face 
and hair,” she said gently. 

“And you will talk to me.^ ” 

“No, I must not talk. But, John ” 

“Yes, dear.” 

“If you will promise to be very, very quiet, and let me 
be very quiet ” 

“Yes.” 

“ I will make you a pillow of my hair.” 

“I — will be quiet,” he whispered. 

She unbound her hair, and leaned over so that it fell in a 
flood on his pillow. With a sigh of contentment he buried 
his face in the rich, sweet masses of it. Gently, like the 
cooling breeze that had come to him in his hours of dart 
ness, her hand caressed him. He closed his eyes; he drank 
in the intoxicating perfume of her tresses; and after a 
little he slept. 

For many hours Joanne sat at his bedside, sleepless^ 
and rejoicing. 

\\^en Aldous awoke it was dawn in the cabin. Joanne 
was gone. For a few minutes he continued to he with his 
T'^ee toward the window. He knew that he had slept a 
long time, and that the day was breaking. Slowly he 
raised himself. The terrible ache in hi3 body was gone; 
he was still lame, but no longer helpless, lie drew himself 


THE HUNTED WOMAN 


321 


cautiously to the edge of the bunk and sat there for a 
time, testing himself before he got up. He was delighted 
at the result of the experiments. He rose to his feet. 
His clothes were hanging against the wall, and he dressed 
himself. Then he opened the door and walked out into 
the morning, limping a little as he went. MacDonald was 
up. Joanne’s tepee was close to the cabin. The two men 
greeted each other quietly, and they talked in low voices, 
but Joanne heard them, and a few moments later she ran 
out with her hair streaming about her and went straight 
into the arms of John Aldous. 

This was the beginning of the three wonderful days that 
yet remained for Joanne and John Aldous in Donald 
MacDonald’s little valley of gold and sunshine and blue 
skies. They were strange and beautiful days, filled with 
a great peace and a great happiness, and in them won- 
derful changes were at work. On the second day Joanne 
and Marie rode alone to the cavern where Jane lay, and 
when they returned in the golden sun of the afternoon they 
were leading their horses, and walking hand in hand. 
And when they came down to where DeBar and Aldous 
and Donald MacDonald were testing the richness of the 
black sand along the stream there was a light in Marie’s 
eyes and a radiance in Joanne’s face which told again that 
world-old story of a Mary Magdalene and the dawn of 
another Day. And now, Aldous thought, Marie had 
become beautiful; and Joanne laughed softly and happily 
that night, and confided many things into the ears of 
Aldous, while Marie and DeBar talked for a long time 
alone out under the stars, and came back at last hand in 
band, like two children. Before they went to bed Marie 


822 


THE HUNTED WOMAN 


whispered something to Joanne, and a little later Joanne 
whispered it to Aldous. 

“They want to know if they can be married with us, 
John,” she said. “That is, if you haven’t grown tired of 
trying to marry me, dear,” she added with a happy laugh. 
“Have you?” 

His answer satisfied her. And"* when she told a 
small part of it to Marie, the other woman’s dark eyes 
grew as soft as the night, and she whispered the words 
to Joe. 

The third and last day was the most beautiful of all. 
Joe’s knife wound was not bad. He had suffered most 
from a blow on the head. Both he and Aldous were in 
condition to travel, and plans were made to begin the home- 
ward journey on the fourth morning. MacDonald had 
unearthed another dozen sacks of the hidden gold, and he 
explained to Aldous what must be done to secure legal 
possession of the little valley. His manner of doing this 
was imnatxnal and strained. His words came haltingly. 
There was unhappiness in his eyes. It was in his voice. 
It was in the odd droop of his shoulders. And finally, when 
they were alone, he said to Aldous, with almost a sob in 
his voice: 

“Johnny — ^Johnny, if on’y the gold were not here!” 

He turned his eyes to the mountain, and Aldous took 
one of his big gnarled hands in both his own. 

“Say it, Mac,” he said gently. “I guess I know what 
it is.” 

“It ain’t fair to you, Johnny,” said old Donald, still 
with his eyes on the mountains. “It ain’t fair to you. 
But when you take out the claims down there it’ll start a 


THE HUNTED WOMAN 


323 


rush. You know what it means, Johnny. There’ll be a 
thousand men up here; an’ mebby you can’t xmderstand 
— ^but there’s the cavern an’ Jane an’ the little cabin here; 
an’ it seems like desecratin’ 

His voice choked, and as Aldous gripped the big hand 
harder in his own he laughed. 

^‘It would, Mac,” he said. ‘T’ve been watching you 
while we made the plans. These cabins and the gold have 
been here for more than forty years without discovery, 
Donald — and they won’t be discovered again so long as 
Joe DeBar and John Aldous and Donald MacDonald 
have a word to say about it. We’ll take out no claims, 
Mac. The valley isn’t ours. It’s Jane’s valley and 
yours!” 

Joanne, coming up just then, wondered what the two 
men had been saying that they stood as they did, with 
hands clasped. Aldous told her. And then old Donald 
confessed to them what was in his mind, and what he had 
kept from them. At last he had found his home, and he 
was not going to leave it again. He was going to stay 
with Jane. He was going to bring her from the cavern 
and bury her near the cabin, and he pointed out the spot, 
covered with wild hyacinths and asters, where she used 
to sit on the edge of the stream and watch him while he 
worked for gold. And they could return each year and 
dig for gold, and he would dig for gold while they were 
away, and they could have it all. All that he wanted 
was enough to eat, and Jane, and the little valley. And 
Joanne turned from him as he talked, her face streaming 
with tears, and in John’s throat was a great lump, and he 
looked away from MacDonald to the mountains. 


THE HUNTED WOMAN 


S24 

So it came to pass that on the fourth morning, when 
they went into the south, they stopped on the last knoll 
that shut out the little valley from the larger valley, and 
looked back. And Donald MacDonald stood alone in 
front of the cabin waving them good-bye. 


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